


I'll Be Your Man

by Last_Chance_Anna



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Blind Date, Don't worry, Dubious Consent, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized demons, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Not between the guys, Protective Tony Stark, Sexual Content, Skeevy guy alert, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, but..., that consent IS pretty dubious now, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23783782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Chance_Anna/pseuds/Last_Chance_Anna
Summary: It begins with a blind date...I still suck at summaries. That'll never change. Hopefully the story is better than the summary...what summary??I will update tags as needed.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Sam Wilson
Comments: 132
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I'm back! I started writing something entirely different, but couldn't get Steve and Tony's voices out of my head just yet, so here's this. This is not connected to the "Stay" universe. It's a whole other thing. I'm not real sure where this is going or how many chapters there will be, it just depends on where my brain goes. That's a scary thought! But I'm glad to be here, and I'm glad you're here too. Thanks for reading, and let's get started...

OCTOBER:

It was a nice place. Nicer than he usually went to, that was for sure. It was dim, candlelight making the room glow soft and secret. The tables were small and as wide-spaced as possible, giving each couple the illusion of deep intimacy even in the midst of eighty other couples. The linens were blood-red and opulent. Something you wanted to reach out and touch...but were pretty sure you weren't supposed to.

He glanced around, feeling a bit uncomfortable, and ran a hand over his tie, smoothing it against his chest. He tugged the knot a little. Sam had picked it out, borrowing it to him from his own wardrobe. 

"Here," he'd said, handing it over. "The blue will bring out your eyes."

Steve gave him a doubtful look. "Do I want them brought out?"

"Fuck you," Sam said. "Just take it. You can't wear a clip-on to this place."

"It's not a clip-on."

"It looks like a clip-on."

"It's not."

"Well, it looks like one."

Steve took the tie and slipped it on. It felt smooth in his hands, and when he knotted it, it lay perfectly against his throat. 

"There, see?" Sam said. "Better, right?"

Steve shrugged. "I guess. The other one was fine."

He was lying. It  _ wasn't _ fine. This  _ was _ better, he just didn't want to give Sam the satisfaction. 

And he was glad now Sam had made him change. He'd gotten the other one in a thrift store four years ago. He'd gotten it to wear to his father's funeral. It was the only tie he owned, the only tie he'd ever owned, and while it was serviceable, it wasn't right for a place like this.

But then, neither was he, really.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting someone," he told the hostess. She looked at him with appraising eyes, and he fidgeted with the knot again. "I think the reservation's under his name. Tony Stark?"

"Oh," she breathed, and it came out on a knowing little laugh. "Of course. Come with me."

She stepped out from behind the hostess stand and beckoned him forward. Steve followed, feeling conspicuous in her wake, keeping his eyes down. He didn't like the way she'd spoken to him. He didn't like the way she'd looked at him either. Like he was a piece of meat ready to be thrown into the lions' den. And that he should be grateful for it.

She led him through the maze of tables to a booth near the back. It was secluded and quiet, far away from even the muted sounds of the other diners.  _ What did I get myself into? _ he thought. 

"Have a seat," she said, eyeing him up again, a cruel little twist to her smile. "Mr. Stark hasn't arrived yet, but I'm sure he'll be here soon. Would you like a drink?"

Steve shook his head. "I'll wait."

"Are you sure? Mr. Stark's guests usually have a drink."

_ What the fuck did I get myself into? _

__ "I'll wait."

"Alright," she said, dismissing him with a flip of her hair. "Call if you need anything."

She sauntered away, and Steve sat down. He didn't belong here. She'd told him that as plainly as possible without coming right out and saying, "You don't belong here, Steve Rogers. We're a higher class of people here."

She didn't have to tell him anyway. He knew. They didn't even have places like this where he was from. In his hometown, when people went out someplace nice for dinner, they didn't wear silk ties and low-cut evening dresses. They put on black jeans instead of blue ones, and when they said "someplace nice", they usually meant Chili's.

This was no Chili's.

And the way that woman had spoken to him… knowingly, condescendingly. The way she'd said "Mr. Stark's guests". What kind of guests did Tony Stark usually bring here?

_ What did I get myself into? _

He shouldn't have said yes.

He hadn't wanted to. It wasn't the kind of thing he usually did, blind dates. Dates, in general, were not the kind of thing he usually did. He was twenty-four. He grew up in a small town with a mother and a father. Only child. His dad died in a car accident. His mother died too. Nobody said it was suicide, but nobody said it  _ wasn't  _ either. Steve didn't know for sure. It did seem strange, though. That two weeks after her husband died, she died in the exact same way. In the exact same place, leaving their son to shift for himself. An orphan at twenty years old.

They'd set aside a little money when he was born. The account was supposed to be for college, but he used it to pay for two funerals instead. The mortuary was very helpful, and quite generous. They knocked thirty percent off his mother's service. They didn't call it a two-fer in his presence, of course, but after the poor kid had gone home, dry-eyed but almost shell-shocked with grief, the two guys who ran the place called it that between them. Not in a mean way. They weren't like that. Just as a way to distinguish this service from the others they handled. 

Steve paid what he could with his college fund, but even after the "two-fer" price, he still ended up owing four thousand more. He went to the church and asked for help. They hadn't been regular church-goers, but it was all he could think to do. He sat in the man's office, waiting...and an hour later, he left with the money. A check made out to the mortuary for the balance on his parents' funerals.

He took an extra-long shower that night.

He went to work at the factory his father had worked at. He worked there for three years. The house wasn't paid for. The cars were still under a lease. They'd had credit debt. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough. Enough to keep him busy trying to repay it.

It was Nat who finally talked him into leaving. "Walk away, Steve," she said over the phone one night. "Please. Come to the city. Stay with Sam and I. There's nothing for you in that town. There never was. Please. Please just leave."

They'd known each other for years, had been best friends since sixth grade, and they had always looked out for each other. Always been there for each other. The only fight he'd ever been in had been for her. 

And she was right.

She almost always was.

So he walked away. He left it all. The house, the cars, the low-paying but well-meaning boss at the factory. He left the memories too. Mostly, anyway. Especially the one of the church office. He'd done what he had to do, but he didn't have to remember it if he didn't want to. He moved in with Nat and her new husband, Sam. They had a baby, Nick, named after Sam's father, and the three of them welcomed Steve in like family.

He got a night job as a dishwasher in a diner, and a day job at a bakery, shoveling dough in and out of a blazing-hot hole in the wall and carrying fifty-pound bags of flour off the delivery trucks. It was hard work, demanding, but he enjoyed it. Enjoyed both of them. He'd always been physical, and the work suited him. And he was doing okay now, money-wise. Not  _ great,  _ but okay, and he was saving for art school. It was what he'd wanted before his parents had passed. An art degree. Work in a gallery, maybe, or better yet, teach. He liked kids. He liked the idea of passing something on to them. Something he was excited about, something they could get excited about too. That would be nice. Really nice. 

But he worked a lot. A lot. And he didn't really have the time, or the occasion, to meet people. He didn't go out much apart from work.

Hence the blind date.

"He got divorced last year," Sam said when he told him about Tony. "He's thirty-five, smart, funny. He's a good guy, just kinda lonely."

"Kinda lonely?" Steve repeated.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah."

"What'd you tell him about me?"

"That you're twenty-four, a good guy, and kinda lonely," Sam said without missing a beat, and Steve groaned. "Come on, it's fine," Sam laughed. "And you'd be doing me a favor. Tony's sweet as honey when he's happy, but he's been a real hard-ass lately."

"Do you really think it's a good idea for me to go out with your boss, though?" Steve asked. "Won't it just make it worse if it doesn't work out?"

"Nah. Not with Tony," Sam said, flapping a hand at him. "He's not like that. It won't really matter if it works out, as long as it gives him something to look forward to for a couple days." He shot Steve a kind look. "And frankly, you could use something to look forward to, too. You've been moping around here for months."

"I haven't been moping."

Sam cocked an eyebrow and gestured at him. They were sitting on the couch. Natasha had gotten dressed up, plonked the baby down in Sam's lap, kissed them all, and went out for a girl's night. They'd gotten the baby to sleep an hour ago, and were now playing two-handed poker and drinking beer. They were both in sweats and t-shirts. It was Friday night.

"You're moping," Sam said. "Look at you. You're twenty-four. You're single. What the hell are you doing sitting here with me at ten o'clock on a Friday night? You should be out there, getting drunk and making bad decisions."

Steve shrugged. "It's not really my thing," he mumbled. And it wasn't. It never had been. The only bad decisions he'd ever made had been for a reason.

Sam's face softened. "I know it's not," he said in a gentle tone. "And that's why you should go out with Tony. It's no pressure. It's just dinner. He's not looking for anything. You both just need to get your feet wet again."

So Steve said yes. And now here he was. And Sam said no pressure, but sitting here now in this place, wearing his funeral suit and borrowed tie, he felt nothing  _ but  _ pressure. He only felt pressure. Pressure was suddenly his middle name.

He glanced at his watch. 8:12. He'd gotten here at eight. On the dot. In fact, he'd stood outside for ten minutes just so he could walk in at exactly eight. He hadn't wanted to look too eager by showing up early, and he hadn't wanted to look like an asshole by showing up late. But the truth was, he  _ had  _ been eager, and he hadn't really had to worry about looking like an asshole. Apparently. 

He looked at his watch again. 8:27.

And now he was starting to feel like an asshole for an entirely different reason.

People were starting to look.

At first, he thought he was imagining it, but three times now, he'd looked up from where his fingers were nervously twisting his napkin, to meet someone's eyes. Three different times. Three different people. Two women. One man. All sympathetic. Sympathy. Nicer word for pity. He didn't need that. He'd felt it too many times already in his young life. Pity from his dad's boss when he gave him a job. Pity from the doctor when she told him his mother had been pronounced dead at the scene of the accident. Pity-- _ mostly _ pity anyway, alongside the barely-concealed lust--from the bishop when he said, "Maybe we can help each other out," then locked the door of his office.

Pity.

8:43.

"Fuck it," he muttered, and stood up. He took his wallet put of his pocket and opened it up. There wasn't much in there, but there was enough to cover dinner. Sam had said Tony would probably insist on paying, but Steve thought he would instead. It would be nice, he thought. A nice thing to do. Pay for his date's dinner. If they hit it off, and went out for a drink or coffee or something after, Tony could pay for that. He thought. He'd thought a lot of things. He hadn't wanted to admit it, but he'd thought a lot. Hoped.

"Are you Steve?"

Steve looked up from his wallet. 

He was shorter than Steve. Slighter. Dark hair with just a hint of silver at the temples. His eyes were dark too. Deep, Steve thought, and that was a silly thing to think, but it was the first word that came to mind. Deep. And for a moment, he felt himself teetering, about to fall, then he remembered 8:43, and he wasn't falling anymore.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Steve Rogers."

"I'm Tony. Sit down. Have you ordered? I know I'm late. Couldn't be avoided. I would have called you, but I couldn't get away. Conference call. I hate conference calls. Did you say you'd ordered?"

Said all in a rush, with barely a breath taken. Steve got the impression that was probably normal. He got the impression that quick, manic energy was just the way he was.

Tony touched Steve's elbow, guided him gently but firmly toward his chair, and then pressed on his shoulder. Steve, feeling a little overwhelmed, sat back down. Tony--Steve  _ thought  _ he'd said he was Tony, anyway--sat in the chair opposite.

" _ Did _ you order?" Tony asked, and picked up his menu.

He looked up and met Steve's eye.  _ Deep, _ Steve thought again, and some of his anger melted away. 

"Umm-" he began, and then the server was there.

"Good evening, Mr. Stark. Are you ready to order?"

"Steve?'

Steve ran a hand through his hair. He felt flustered. He'd been sitting here in solitary confinement for an hour, and now to have such a flurry of activity so suddenly, and to have those eyes on him, to have him so close, and...and he smelled really good, like spice, and oak, and shadows. It  _ was _ overwhelming. 

The server looked at him skeptically. Like the hostess had looked at him. Like the other three people had looked at him. Like Tony was looking at him.

He was starting to sweat.

"Umm," he said again.

Tony's eyes rolled up to the server's. "We're going to need a minute."

She glanced at Steve, then back at Tony. That look of skeptical pity was still on her face, except now it was directed at Tony.  _ At  _ Tony,  _ about  _ Steve. Steve knew it. It seemed like Tony knew it too. "Of course," she said. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Thank you."

She walked away, and Tony looked back at Steve. He sighed.

"You okay?"

Steve nodded. He was trying to pull it together. Trying hard. "Yeah."

"Are you drunk?"

It was polite. Curious. Steve frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Tony looked down at the empty table. "I don't see any glasses. Did you get drunk before you got here? Or take a pill or something?"

Steve huffed an incredulous breath. His anger had slipped away into bewilderment, but it was coming back now. 8:43. Yeah, that's right. "No," he said shortly. "I'm not  _ drunk." _

"So you took a pill? Was it a blue one or a red one?"

"Why are you asking me that?" 

Tony shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Don't know. You're just kinda having trouble keeping up." Those eyes glimmered with a sort of good-humored meanness. Looking into them made Steve feel dizzy. And angry. He knew what he was doing. Steve was certain of that. Mr. Tony Stark knew he was being an asshole. He just didn't care. 

A good guy? Had Sam actually said he was a good guy?

"I'm not drunk," Steve said, meeting his eyes fully, "and I didn't take any pills. Maybe if you'd been on time, you'd know that."

His voice had risen as he spoke. He didn't mean for it to happen--he wasn't the kind of man who yelled under normal circumstances--but it was happening now.  _ Are you drunk?  _ Christ.

Tony folded his hands on top of his menu. His mouth was firm, his eyes intense. He really was beautiful. In the candlelight, the glow lighting his olive skin just right, picking up the hints of silver in his hair, Steve felt his pulse quicken. Why  _ couldn't  _ he have been a good guy? Why  _ couldn't _ this have just been a nice, no-pressure dinner? Why  _ couldn't _ he have been smart, and funny, and sweet as honey like Sam had said? Was that really too much to ask? 

And it almost didn't matter. Almost. It was only his little bit of pride, his little bit of lingering self-respect that made Steve hold onto his anger. Otherwise...yeah. Otherwise.

"I told you I had a conference call," Tony explained. "I told you I couldn't get out of it. I apologized for being late, and if-"

"You didn't," Steve interrupted. "Actually."

Tony blinked, seeming a little surprised. "Didn't what?"

"Apologize. You said a lot of other stuff. But you didn't apologize."

"Pretty sure I did."

"No. You didn't."

"Is that what you need, Steve?" he asked, clearly feeling put-upon, but trying not to sound that way. "An apology? Will that make it better?"

Tony cocked his head. It would have been endearing if Steve was in any kind of mood to be endeared, but he wasn't. Not anymore, anyway. He'd really been looking forward to this. It was stupid. He knew that now, but he had. Then this.  _ This. _ Way-too-fancy restaurant, condescending hostess, 8-fucking-43, thank you very much, treating him like he was stupid, like he was  _ being  _ stupid, like he was beneath him, beneath the great Tony Stark…

Steve stood up. "No," he said. "No, I don't need an apology." He was still sweating, still angry. He could feel his face getting hot, that goddamn blush he could never quite control. "I'm gonna tell Sam we had a nice time," he said. "I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same. He shouldn't have to feel bad because of  _ this _ ."

Tony's mouth was open slightly, his eyes dark and watchful. He still seemed a little surprised. Steve hoped he was. He hoped he was  _ shocked. _ Tony didn't seem like the kind of guy who got turned down much. Steve felt a little thrill in that. It was a petty, mean feeling, but he reveled in it, even in spite of the pang of regret he was also feeling.

"Tell him I spilled a glass of wine or something," Steve said. "Give him a detail. That's what makes a lie believable. Details."

Then he left. 

Tony watched him weave his way through the tables then out the door. He wanted to go after him. Wanted to catch up to him, stop him,  _ actually  _ apologize, but he didn't. His head was pounding. It had been for awhile. Ever since Pepper and her lawyer had called to go over the Malibu house inventory. Again. Wanting to make sure it was correct. Make sure it was fair. Make sure they were both as happy as they could be under the circumstances. He'd tried just giving it all to her, but she wouldn't take it. And as much as her desire to be "fair" was kind and good, it was also the worst kind of punishment for him.

He didn't think she realized that. He  _ knew _ she didn't. But it was. And he'd taken his hurt feelings and pain out on Steve. Steve Rogers. A good guy. Kinda lonely. 

And the worst part was, Tony had been looking forward to tonight.  _ Really _ looking forward to it. He'd been kinda lonely too, lately.

"Is your friend coming back, Mr. Stark?" the server asked, reappearing at his side. 

Tony glanced up, smiling a little. Sadly. "No. I don't think so."

"Would you like to order?"

"Just a bottle of scotch. 'Kay?"

"Coming right up."

He sighed. Kinda lonely.

Yeah.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a long time. I'm not 100% happy with it, but I had to get it out of my hands. I rewrote it many times. Way too many times.

MAY, 9:00 PM

He hated to admit it, but this just wasn't really his scene. 

Not only was he not drinking much these days, but this here, this whole bar, beer, and bros thing was just...not him. Not anymore. He thought he might be dancing perilously close to the "too old for this shit" line. He knew when he turned thirty, that line would be coming up eventually, and now, at thirty-six, watching all these kids playing pool, and darts, and grab-ass in the corner, and laughing too loud at nothing in particular, and grinding up against each other on the dancefloor, and taking picture after picture after picture of each other and themselves and half-empty beer steins and loose peanuts on the pock-marked tables, he thought it might be close. Very close. Like, a week away-close.

Or maybe it was here already.

He hadn't really planned on coming out tonight. It had been a long week. Stark Industries wasn't a multi-billion dollar company or anything, but the little robotics business he'd dreamed up and started right out of college  _ did  _ do a healthy business, and they  _ did  _ trade with some of the big boys, enough so that Tony worked a lot, and their cash-flow was in the mid-eight-digit arena. He'd started the company with no help from his father. His father had, in fact, promised him he would  _ never  _ help him financially, never help him at all, and he had kept that promise until the day he died. That was fine with Tony. It just made him work harder. Sometimes he wondered if maybe he had succeeded purely out of spite. Not that it mattered, really, but it was still something he wondered about.

Tony employed one hundred-fifty people--not bad considering he'd started out with two--and he liked to think they were all family. He knew that was a cliché, but that's the way he felt. And one of his family--a young kid named Peter from payroll--was having a bachelor party. So, here he was at a bar on a Saturday night, with fifteen of his employees getting happy-- _ happily  _ happy--on his dime.

They were on stop three of a six-stop pub-crawl, and he had been having fun, but he thought stop three might be his last stop. He was tired, and watching the young guys _be_ young was making _him_ feel old. Like a dad playing chaperone, and he thought he was about done for the night. 

"Hey, Mr. Stark, let's go. Time for the next one."

Tony clapped Peter on the shoulder. "Not for me, kid," he said. "I think it's past my bedtime."

"No! No, come with. We need you!"

"No, you don't. I already set up tabs for you at your next three stops, and the limo's outside. It'll get you there, then get you all home. Safely. So, stay together, 'kay?"

Peter chewed his lip for a second, then nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Yup. Very sure. You may not have noticed, but I've got a couple years on the rest of you."

"That doesn't matter! Come with."

"No. You guys go on. I need my beauty sleep."

Peter looked at him, concern duking it out with the desire to keep the night rolling. Tony watched it happen, letting him come to the right decision on his own. "Okay, Mr. Stark," Peter said finally. "Thanks."

"Sure thing, kid," he said, and then Peter hugged him. Tony hugged back, and over Peter's shoulder, on the other side of the bar…

Peter let him go. "Come with us, Mr. Stark," he said earnestly. "Please?"

Tony's eyes flicked across the bar, then settled on Peter's again. "Nah, you go on. Have fun. Make sure you take the limo back, okay?"

"Okay," Peter relented.

"See you on Tuesday, kiddo."

"Tuesday? But-"

Tony nodded. "Tuesday, Pete."

Peter grinned, hugged him again, then rejoined the other guys, and they bounded out the door, laughing.

Tony watched them go. He hadn't lied. He was tired, but, you know, not  _ that  _ tired. Especially now. He was a lot of other things all of a sudden, but maybe not tired.

He picked up his orange juice--no vodka, just the juice--and downed it, then ran a hand through his hair. He kept his eyes on the guy across the bar. As if they could have gone anywhere else. He remembered him from the restaurant. Strong jaw. Clear blue eyes. Dark blond hair. He'd been wearing a suit. It was cheap, but it had still fit him well. Still accentuated those broad shoulders. His tie had been better quality. Smooth silk. It brought out his eyes.

Tony wasn't sure if he'd seen him. He was alone. Sitting apart from everyone else, a bottle by his hand. He was looking at his phone. Looking hard. His brow was furrowed, his mouth a firm line. He'd looked pretty serious when he stomped out of the restaurant back in October, and he looked serious now. Tony didn't know what a smile would look like on his face, but all of a sudden, he was mad to find out. 

It was a little surprising to discover how nervous he was. He wasn't a kid, and he hadn't been a virgin in twenty years, but right now, as he made his way slowly around the bar, he felt like both. He--Steve--still had his head down, still wasn't looking. His hair curled a little behind the perfect pink shell of his ear. Tony wanted to run his fingers through it. Touch the curve of that ear. He licked his lips. 

"Hey."

Steve looked up finally. His frown deepened when he saw Tony. His eyes got harder. He looked back at his phone. "Hey."

Tony drew in a breath. Smiled his best, most charming, pants-dropping smile. He was feeling hopeful. He'd gotten a cold shoulder before, and he stopped at a cold shoulder every time, but this felt more like a  _ cool  _ shoulder than a cold one. Sometimes a cool shoulder could be warmed up a little.

"Hey," he said again. "Didn't I treat you like shit a few months ago?"

Steve glanced up at him. He didn't smile, but that frown seemed less intense than it had a moment ago. Tony's stomach did a funny little flip-flop.

"I don't know," Steve said. "Did you?"

_ Getting warmer, Stark. _

__ "I might have."

"Might?"

_ Warmer still. _

__ Tony didn't sit down, but he leaned against the bar. He cocked an eyebrow at Steve, waiting, looking for a hint of a smile. He didn't see it yet, but it was still early. "I guess it's too much to hope that you really don't remember, huh?"

_ Warmer… _

__ "'Fraid so."

But he wasn't frowning anymore.

"That's fortunate," Tony said brightly. "Because I make one hell of a second impression."

Oh, and there it was. 

It was quick, there and gone in a second, but it was as good as Tony had hoped. Better. Sweet, and sunny, and heart-poundingly sexy. 

Steve turned his phone off. 

"Well," he drawled, "anything would be an improvement on your first one."

"Anything?"

Steve shrugged. 

Tony hooked his foot around the stool, then stopped. "Okay if I sit down?"

Steve shrugged again, smiled a little more, and Tony thought he'd never get enough of that, even if he lived to be one hundred. 

He drug the stool closer and sat down. "What if I told you I kicked a puppy on the way here?"

Steve's face fell. He looked like Tony had kicked  _ him _ . Tony held his hands up. 

"I didn't," he assured him quickly, trying to get that look off his face, and upset that he'd put it there in the first place. "I swear. Cross my heart," he said, then suited the action to the words, drawing his finger in an X over his heart. 

_ I'm so fucked. _

__ "Don't say stuff like that," Steve said. "I don't like it."

"Okay," Tony agreed immediately. He held his left hand out and slapped it lightly with his right. "Bad second-impression-Tony. Bad. You're supposed to be cleaning up first-impression-Tony's mess, not making it worse."

Steve's eyebrows drew together, but that smile was back on his lips. He looked like he was trying hard to figure something out, but was enjoying the process. Like he was putting together a puzzle, or doing a crossword on a lazy Sunday morning. 

"Are you always like this?" he asked. 

"Like what?"

"You know," Steve gestured at him, " _ this." _

_ Warm, Stark. Very, very warm. _

__ Tony tipped his head, considering. "Sounds like you need to spend more time with me," he said. "Gather data. Get all the facts. That's the only way you can make an informed decision on that."

Steve laughed, and for one blissful moment, Tony thought he'd had a stroke, died, and gone straight to heaven. Is this how it would have been if he had just been nice on that blind date? Could that be possible? That it could have been warm and easy like this? Damn that first-impression-Tony. That fucker needed to retire or something. Let second-impression-Tony take over for awhile.

But then Steve glanced at his phone. Put his hand over it. He stopped laughing. He kept the smile, thank god, but he stopped laughing.

"Actually, I should probably go," he said quietly. "It's getting late, and-"

"No," Tony said. "No, don't go yet." He wanted to lay his hand on Steve's arm or take his hand. He knew it was way too soon for that, but he wanted to do it anyway. Part of him screamed for him to do it. To stop him from leaving. To block the door, lay down in front of his car, something, anything to get him to stay. 

He settled for tapping Steve's bicep with the back of his hand. He registered the hard muscle beneath his sweater and tucked the information away for later review. "At least let me buy you a drink first," he said. "Please?"

Steve glanced at his phone again. "I don't know."

"Come oooon," Tony pleaded, and it was shameless. Shameless pleading. First-impression-Tony would never resort to such tactics, but he was no longer in charge here. He'd had his shot and fucked it up royally. "One drink? A quick one? A little one? Please?"

Steve let out a breath. His hand closed over his phone. It looked brand new. Fancy. All the bells and whistles. He picked it up and shoved it in his pocket like a used-up candy wrapper or an old grocery list. "Okay," he said, and his smile seemed softer, his eyes brighter. "Okay, one drink. And then I have to go."

Now Tony did touch his arm. Just a quick squeeze of his fingers against Steve's firm forearm, but it felt good. Really good. "You've made second-impression-Tony a very happy man."

May, 12:05 AM

They walked out of the bar together and stood side-by-side under the little awning over the door.

Happy had called him at 11:40 and said all employees were safely deposited in a home, either their own or someone else's, and he wanted to know where his next stop was. Tony knew that was code for "Who are you shacking up with tonight, boss?" but Tony didn't take offense. They'd known each other too long, and Happy had seen him in too many compromising positions for judgment. He'd stepped away to take the call, and now he glanced at Steve, saw him looking at his phone, that frown from before back on his face, and asked Happy to come back for him. The bar was closing soon, and he'd need a ride home. 

"You got it, boss," Happy said, which was his usual answer. Especially now that Tony wasn't drinking quite so much, and his decisions were not quite so questionable. "I can be there in thirty minutes."

Tony looked at Steve again. "No rush."

It was raining. Just a drizzle, but it was still wet. Steve reached out a hand, let it fill with rainwater, then watched it drain through his parted fingers. "Guess the forecast was right," he said.

"Which forecast were you looking at?" Tony asked. "Mine said clear skies and smooth sailing."

"Sailing too?"

"Metaphorical sailing in my case."

Steve smiled, looking at Tony from the corner of his eye. It was a shy look, but unabashedly sexy. Tony wasn't sure if Steve realised that. Wasn't sure if he knew he was giving Tony sex-eye right now, or if he was just sweet enough to be unaware. Because he was. Sweet. Very sweet. And it wasn't an act. Tony was absolutely positive of that. He'd known people who tried to put sweetness on like a disguise, but it never worked. It was obvious. There were some things you couldn't fake, and sweetness--genuine, for-real sweetness--was one of those things. 

So, he knew Steve was sweet.

He was also smart. Perceptive. Almost imtuitive. Just talking to him for the last three hours was enough for Tony to see that. To appreciate how quick and sharp he was. And Tony liked it. He liked the way Steve grasped things. Concepts. Ideas. Even if he didn't know the technical terminology Tony threw at him, he still understood what he was saying. And if he didn't, he asked concise, thoughtful questions until he  _ did  _ understand. 

Tony thought that was sexy, too.

"Can I give you a ride?" Tony asked, his eyes never leaving Steve's outstretched hand, catching raindrops like diamonds in his palm.

Steve shook his head. "It's okay. I'm not far from here. I can walk."

"You do know it's raining, right?"

"I like the rain."

Tony tore his eyes away from Steve's hand to look at his face. It was open and sweet, and there was that word again. Would Steve's mouth taste sweet? 

_ Don't think about that, Tony. That's counter-productive. _

__ "I like it too," he managed, "when  _ it's  _ outside, and  _ I'm  _ inside, and not getting soaked to the skin."

"I don't mind getting soaked to the skin."

_ Oh man, I'm so fucked. _

__ Tony sighed as Happy pulled up to the curb. He'd never let anyone tell him there wasn't a god ever again.  _ Someone  _ had just answered his prayer.

"Ordinarily, I'd let you go on that note," he said, "but it's midnight. And it's raining. And look at that, my car just pulled up." He cocked an eyebrow at Steve. "I'd say that's a sign, wouldn't you?"

If Tony hadn't been smitten before, the look of apprehension on Steve's face would have surely sealed the deal. "You have a limousine?" he asked. "Why do you have a limousine?"

Tony bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling. He succeeded, but it was a near thing. It was adorable. That nervous tic of Steve's lip. The way he ran his hand through his hair then rubbed the back of his neck. It made Tony want to wrap him up in his arms and whisper nonsense words in his ear until he relaxed. Snuggle away his worry. Tony had never been much of a cuddler. He was beginning to rethink his position on that.

"'Kay, first off,  _ I  _ don't have a limo," he said lightly. "The  _ company  _ has a limo. I just borrowed it for the night." He reached out, wanting to take his hand, but plucked at his sweater instead. "And secondly, please? Please let me give you a ride? Otherwise, I'll just have to drive along beside you until you get home, and Happy has a wife he'd like to get home to at some point tonight, so what do you say? For Happy's sake? And his wife's? She's a lovely woman. You don't want to upset her, do you?"

Steve ran his hand through his hair again. "You are always like this, aren't you?"

Tony considered. "Yes."

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets, then leaned into Tony's space to bump his shoulder against him. "Okay."

_ So, so fucked. _

__ And he couldn't remember being more fine with a situation in his entire life.

__ "Come on."

Happy didn't get out of the car. Tony hated it when he did. He was glad to have him there to drive him when he needed it, but the only time he wanted him opening the door for him was when he was too far down the rabbit hole to do it for himself. That had happened less and less over the last few months, and every time Tony opened the door for himself, he felt a little thrill of satisfaction. Opening it now for Steve was like a full-on balls-to-the-wall  _ victory _ . It almost made him feel like a superhero.

Steve slid inside, and Tony got in behind him. It smelled in here, like beer and sweat and maybe vomit? It looked like Happy had cleaned it up as best he could in the few minutes he'd had, but it was still the scene of fifteen kids having the time of their lives.

Tony grimaced and looked apologetically at Steve. "Sorry 'bout the smell. There was a bachelor party earlier. Looks like they had a little too much fun. It's usually nicer."

Steve laughed in the back of his throat. "I'm riding eight blocks home in a limousine," he said. "I don't think it could get any nicer."

"Throwing down a gauntlet, Steve? 'Cause that sounds like a challenge."

Steve's cheeks turned a pretty pink, but he shook his head. "Not a challenge. Just a fact."

"Where to, boss?" Happy asked, and Steve rattled off his address.

Tony sat back, looking at Steve looking anywhere but him. The last three hours sitting together talking had been effortless. They'd abandoned their stools after awhile and moved to a table. There was still plenty of background noise, but an air of intimacy settled between them. Their conversation flowed from one topic to the next, stopped only once when Tony asked Steve about his parents.

"Um, could we talk about something different?" he asked. "I don't really want to talk about my family."

Tony, who hadn't really wanted to talk about his family either, nodded. "Definitely. What's your stance on talking about weights and measures? 'Cause I'm dying to know how much you can bench-press."

Steve threw a pretzel at him.

But now, for the first time, Tony felt a bit of strain.

"Do you want…anything?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Steve shook his head. "No, thanks."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"I know it seems fancy, but it's just a car."

"I know."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Steve looked at him finally, just a peek, and Tony could feel the heat in it. The want. But there was something else there too. Something that didn't mix well with the heat. Like icewater on a campfire.

"Tony-" he said softly, and Tony realized it was the first time he'd heard his name in Steve's mouth tonight. It was dark and soft, like unfiltered honey dripping from his lips. And that, along with the knowledge of the good, hard muscle of his bicep was something that Tony would be revisiting tonight. In great detail. 

He opened his mouth to say something--what, he didn't know--when the car bumped to a stop, and Happy said, "We're here, boss."

Tony restrained himself from firing him on the spot.

Especially when Steve jumped out of the car without saying a word.

"Thanks, Happy," Tony muttered, then went after Steve.

He was standing at the door, fumbling with his key when Tony reached him.

"Hey," Tony said. The rain was still coming down and this building didn't have any shelter over the door. It pattered down around them, onto them, between them. "Guess it's a good thing you like the rain, huh?"

Steve stopped messing with his key. His shoulders fell. He sighed. Like a man who was exhausted. Like a man who was giving in. Or up.

He turned back to Tony.

Tony stepped closer and did what he'd been dying to do all night long. He took Steve's hand. Reached out, brushed his pale fingers with his own, then curled them together. Immediately, a sense of warmth and rightness filled him. Right to the top. Because this was how it was supposed to be. This was how  _ they  _ were supposed to be. Holding each other's hand in the rain. Looking at each other in the dark. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same space. Tony didn't believe in love at first sight. He didn't believe in fate, or destiny, or even coincidence. He was a man of science. He believed in cold, hard facts. He believed in truth.

Holding Steve's hand in the rain was the truest thing he had ever experienced.

Steve's head was bowed. Raindrops made his hair glisten, made it look impossibly sleek, impossibly smooth. Tony so wanted to touch it. So wanted to feel it between his fingers. 

Tony ducked his own head, chasing Steve's eyes. When he caught them, they held, but they were troubled. Tony took another step, halved the distance between them, and he could feel the heat from Steve's body now. Feel it wrapping around him, warming him up, too. "I'd like to see you again," he said quietly. 

Steve was silent, just holding Tony's hand, just standing, just staying in the moment with him, then slowly, very slowly, he pulled his hand away. He turned his head when he did it, tearing his eyes away too.

Tony closed his.

"Oh," he sighed. "It's like that, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

Tony shook his head. He searched around and found a smile. It was difficult to put on, and it didn't fit worth a damn, but it was there. He was in the public eye occasionally. He knew how to put on a show when he needed to. "It's okay."

"I didn't-" Steve began, stopped, let out a harsh breath. "I didn't mean to lead you on. That's not what I wanted."

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be." Tony shrugged. This wasn't right, and he knew it. You couldn't fake sweetness, and you couldn't fake  _ rightness  _ either. And it had been right between them all night. Right from the start.

"I'm sorry," Steve said again. He shoved his hand into his pocket. Hunched his shoulders in the rain. Drops of it glittered in his eyelashes. "It's just…I'm kind of seeing someone."

The phone. Of course. The fucking phone.

"It's okay, Steve." Tony ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. He tried the smile again. It didn't come any easier, but it came. "I mean, of  _ course  _ you're seeing someone. You're incredible, it would be a miracle if you weren't seeing someone."

Steve frowned at him. The kicked-puppy look from before. "Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like we're on TV, and you have to make sure the audience understands something."

Tony rubbed his face. Laughed in a breathless, helpless way. "And I thought I was fucked before."

"What do you mean?"

"I like you." Tony grabbed his shoulders and gave him a brisk, spontaneous shake. " _ God,  _ Steve, I  _ like  _ you. And I should be so fucking pissed right now, but I'm not because you're smart, and you're funny, and you're  _ sweet. _ " He shook him again, and the way Steve looked at him, bewildered and unsure, just made him laugh more. "And I know you're seeing someone, and that  _ sucks.  _ That sucks for me, but I meant what I said, you're fucking incredible, and-" he stopped, feeling a little bewildered himself, and Steve was looking at him like he was crazy. But a good crazy. Tony was as sure of that as he was that the Earth was round. Steve  _ liked  _ that Tony was crazy.

He liked it.

Tony released his shoulders and held out his hand. "Give me your phone."

"Wh-"

"Just give it to me."

Steve pulled it out of his pocket.

"Does it have a password?"

"Fingerprint reader."

"Then put your pretty little thumb to work and turn it on."

Steve did, and Tony snatched it out of his hand, and started typing.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"I'm giving you my number. And I want you to use it. I want you to call me. And I want to have coffee and stuff with you. And talk to you. You're sexy as hell, but I  _ like  _ you. I like the things you say. And the way you think. And I want to talk to you. And if that's what this is, then that's what this is."

"You wanna be  _ friends _ ?"

Tony glanced up from Steve's phone and looked in his eye. "Yeah. I do. Is that okay?"

The corner of Steve's mouth lifted in a tiny smile. "I don't really have that many friends."

Tony handed his phone back. "Me neither. At least not enough that I'd turn one down."

Steve smiled more, and Tony didn't bother ignoring the way his stomach flip-flopped. He embraced it. "Do you want my number?" Steve asked.

"I'll have it when you call me."

"Okay."

"Tomorrow, okay? Or the next day? We'll have coffee and do…friend…stuff."

Steve nodded. "Okay."

Tony started away, then turned back. "Do you know what friends do? What do you and Sam do?"

"We watch TV. Sometimes I let him beat me at basketball or cards."

"What do you and Natasha do?"

"We talk." He shrugged. "Sometimes she lets me beat her at cards."

Tony nodded. "Coffee first, though, 'kay?"

"Okay."

Tony nodded again, then went back to the car. He slid inside and the smell of maybe--probably--vomit hit him again, but it wasn't quite as bad.

"Where to now, boss?"

"Home. Just home, Happy, thanks."

"You got it."

Steve had disappeared inside, and Tony sat back in the seat while Happy piloted the car toward home.

He replayed the night in his head. Every minute, every second, every look, every touch. He'd wanted him so badly. He still wanted him, but this was okay. That sense of rightness was still there. He could make this work. He could make being friends work. People didn't  _ have  _ to touch. They didn't  _ have  _ to hold hands, or kiss, or…anything else. It wasn't a hard-wired directive. He'd just see him. Just talk to him. Just make him laugh. Just be with him. That was enough. Being friends was enough. 

The thought of Steve's honeyed voice and firm bicep rose in his mind, but he shoved that right back below the surface. The rightness was still there. That meant being friends was enough.

Sure, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was happening in my head was WAY darker than I decided I wanted this to be. There's still going to be a little drama and angsty stuff, but nothing like I was thinking. I'm trying to make this a little fluffier than some of my other stuff. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you in a week or so with chapter 3. Loves to all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee and...friend...stuff. And cue the angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is taking a turn, but believe me when I say it's still not as bad as I had originally thought it was going to be. Some of you may hate me when this chapter is over. I'm so sorry. Really. I am. But, sometimes you just gotta go where the story takes you. I am, however, promising a happy ending, so, if you decide to stick around, there will be eventual goodness!

MAY, MONDAY 9:00 AM

He didn't answer his phone when it rang. 

He heard it buzz against the table, but he was deep in conversation with a company in Madrid, and had been for awhile now. Three hours. A fucking three-hour long conference call hashing out details of a product roll-out.  _ Three hours. _ Which meant they'd started at six a.m. his time. Which meant he'd gotten up at four-thirty. Which meant copious amounts of coffee, an obscene number of pastries, zero bathroom breaks, one  _ very  _ large headache, and the worst part was, they weren't even done yet. 

It had been noon in Spain when they started. That was a perfectly respectable time to start a marathon conference call. He vowed he'd choose the start-time next time.

He glanced at his phone when it buzzed, but it wasn't a number he recognized, so he ignored it. If it was important, they'd leave a message. If they didn't, fuck 'em.

It was another two hours before they finally ended the call. It ended happy and that was good. He had a good relationship with most of his foreign distributors, which was a two-fold blessing--their business usually ended happy, and he almost always had a place to stay when he traveled abroad. He reciprocated, too. He'd set more than one international businessperson up in a suite at the Four Seasons, and it wasn't unheard of to have one in his guest-room either. Maybe that's why he found it so easy to get along with them all. It was hard to get angry with a guy if you'd seen him in his pjs on his way out of the bathroom.

It wasn't the way Howard had done business. He'd been as cold with his associates as he had been with his son. Just one more way they were different. One more reason Howard would be disappointed. 

But right now, Howard was the furthest thing from Tony's mind. Right now, all that was on his mind, was going to pee, then taking a nap. If he could have done it the other way around, he would have, but that was out of the question unless he wanted to do a lot of explaining to the people around the office. Gray suit pants would definitely not disguise a wet crotch. Never had, never would. Sadly, he knew that from experience. So did his co-workers. The 2013 Christmas party was the stuff of legends.

So, he made his first stop a pit-stop, then on his way back to his office, he remembered someone had tried to call him. When he got back to his desk, he saw he had a voicemail. He dialed up, then drew his notes from the meeting toward him. It was probably a telemarketer or something. Nobody actually  _ called  _ anybody anymore. 

"Hey. Tony?" the caller said, and Tony snatched the phone up at the sound of that voice. "At least, I hope this is Tony. Unless you gave me a fake number." Tony grinned at the sound of nervous laughter. "I wouldn't really blame you if you did. Guess it was my turn to treat  _ you  _ like shit, huh?" More nervous laughter, and Tony could actually see him standing there with his phone, blushing that pink blush that was as endearing as it was sexy. Tony's mind tried to put him in a towel fresh out of the shower, but he resisted. Friends. They were just friends. "Um, can...Do you want to get coffee? Like you said? 'Cause I'd like to. If you still want to. God, that sounds so stupid. Look, just, um, I'm going to get a cup of coffee at noon at The Coffee Bean on 8th. It's right near your office. Sam can tell y-"

Then he was gone. Cut off by the voicemail gods.

"Fuck," Tony muttered, and looked at his watch. 11:20.

Naps were overrated. 

He gathered up his phone and keys and headed out the door. He actually knew where The Coffee Bean was. Their coffee was overpriced and weak, but they had decent muffins, and next time he'd steer Steve someplace a little better. He knew all the best coffee places. He'd help him out. That's what friends did, right? Help each other? Right?

Right.

He started toward the elevator, then detoured back down the hallway. The sales department was down there, and that meant Sam was down there. He was one of Tony's best salesmen. He was genuine, and friendly, and he had a silver tongue. Not as silver as Tony's own, maybe,but he certainly didn't have any trouble talking people into doing things. Kind of the reason Tony was in this position right now, actually.

Tony rapped his knuckles on the jamb of the open door, and Sam looked up from a stack of invoices. "Am I interrupting?"

"Yes," Sam replied, "but it's on your dime, so come on in."

"You're a real smartass, you know that?"

Sam shrugged. "It's a family trait."

"Sounds like my kind of family."

Sam gave him a funny, considering look, then sat back in his chair. "Do you need directions?" he asked.

"No. I've been there."

"Figured you had."

Tony didn't sit down. He walked the perimeter of the small office. He touched Sam's books, ran a finger along his desk. He stopped in front of a framed picture of Natasha and the baby, and looked at it silently.

Sam watched him, and when he could stand it no more, said, "I don't know anything about the guy."

Tony kept his eyes on the photograph. Nat holding the little guy against her shoulder. Cradling his small head. Sun catching the red fall of her hair. A Madonna for the twenty-first century.

"Not even his name?"

"Not even his name."

Tony traced a finger along the bottom edge of the frame. "And Natasha, she doesn't…?"

Sam sighed. "No. And it's upsetting her. They talk about everything."

"But not this?"

"No."

Tony nodded. "Okay. I was just curious."

Sam shook his head. "Why don't you go ask him? You're  _ friends  _ now, right?"

"There's that family trait again."

"Just go, Tony. You're going to be late."

Tony nodded. He didn't want to be late. Again. "'Kay. Thanks, dad."

" _ Go. _ "

Tony went, and when it looked like he wasn't going to quite make it on time, he ran.

Steve was sitting at a table when he burst through the door. There was a cup in front of him. He had his phone out again, but this time, he wasn't frowning. This time there was a little smile on his face. It was soft and pleased, and looking at it, knowing he  _ wasn't  _ the one who put it there, made Tony nauseous. 

He came forward, yanked a chair out, and threw himself down into it. Steve looked up, and the smile got brighter. That was nice, but it wasn't perfect. Because that  _ other  _ smile had already been there. That nice, soft one.

"Hey," Tony said, reached for Steve's cup, and downed half of it. It was a good thing this place sucked and their coffee was never hot enough or he might have scalded himself.

"Help yourself," Steve said, his eyes sparkling and impossibly blue.

"Pfft. You weren't drinking it anyway. It's terrible."

"It's not  _ terrible. _ "

"Yeah, it is, Steve. It's terrible. Capital T, even. That's it's name now." He drank the rest of it, then pushed the cup away with a grimace. "No, we're not even calling it Terrible. We're just calling it...i don't know. Shit, I guess."

"I didn't know you were so picky."

"Picky's an ugly word."

"What do you call it?"

" _ Discerning. _ Sounds so much nicer."

Steve laughed, and  _ that  _ was the nicest thing Tony had heard all day.

MAY, MONDAY 2:00 PM

He forgot about that soft, pleased little smile for awhile. He forgot the way it made him feel sick to his stomach. He forgot how tied-up and twisted it made him feel. How jealous.

After awhile, he just thought about Steve, and that was more than enough.

He coaxed Steve out of that pretentious coffee house and into a greasy-spoon diner a few blocks away where they served real coffee and slabs of blueberry pie as big as your head on chipped plates with a huge dollop of whipped cream that tasted like vanilla and cinnamon.

Steve rolled his eyes at the first bite, then whispered, "Oh my god," in a way that made Tony very glad he was sitting and hidden from the waist down. Sporting a huge erection was maybe not the best way to convince someone--or yourself--that you wanted to be "just friends".

"I told you," Tony said, and dumped sugar into his coffee. 

"This is so good."

Tony nodded. "We'll get the apple next time. It'll blow your fucking mind."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Steve agreed, and took another bite. "How'd you know about this place?"

Tony shrugged, picked up a stray berry, popped it into his mouth, then sucked unconsciously on his finger. Steve watched attentively. "I used to come here when I was a kid. My dad's driver used to bring me here on Sundays." He smiled at the memory. He and Jarvis sitting together, sometimes in this very booth, Jarvis reading the business section, Tony looking at the comics. Sometimes they'd work on the crossword after. At the time, he'd never questioned why they'd come out every Sunday morning. When he got older, he realized it was because his parents usually drank themselves into a stupor on Saturday nights, and Jarvis didn't want Tony to see the aftermath the next morning. By the time they got home, his folks were usually up and lucid. Jarvis still hung around, though. Even though Sundays were technically his day off, he still hung around. Tony never forgot that. Would never forget.

"He liked to read the papers," he told Steve now. "And he didn't mind me tagging along."

"That's a nice memory to have," Steve said wistfully.

Tony shrugged again, even though Steve was right. It  _ was  _ a nice memory. The best he had from his childhood. "What about you?" he asked. "I'm sure you've got something like that."

Steve tensed, his face suddenly blank. "No. Not really," he said. "We, um, we didn't have much when I was growing up. My parents mostly just worked."

Tony put a hand on his wrist. "Hey. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Steve slipped his hand out from under Tony's. "It's no big deal." He looked at his watch. "God, it's two o'clock. I gotta work in a couple hours. I should go." He stood up. "See you later." He stretched his lips into something resembling a smile, then walked out the door. 

Tony took his wallet out of his pocket, found the two twenties he kept in there for emergencies, and tossed them in the vicinity of the table. "Steve," he called, and went after him.

He caught him outside the door. Steve had his phone in his hand again, but the screen was still dark. "Hey," Tony said. "Hey, don't leave like this, 'kay?" He looked at him apprehensively. "Please?"

Steve glanced at his feet, then back up. He wasn't angry. Tony had seen anger on that perfect face before, and this wasn't that. "Leave like what?" Steve asked. 

Tony stepped closer. His fingers wanted to grasp Steve's arm, but Tony shoved them away in his pockets instead. "Sad," he answered. "Don't leave sad. You'll break my heart if you leave here sad."

Steve looked at his feet again. Dug a toe into the concrete. "I'm not sad," he mumbled. 

"I'm sorry I asked. You told me before not to ask. I didn't mean to. I never will again, okay, I promise."

Steve glanced up through his lashes. "Cross your heart?"

Tony immediately drew an X over his heart. "Cross my heart." He did it twice more. "Three times. Do you want ten? How about a hundred?"

Steve shook his head, and this time, that soft, pleased little smile  _ was  _ there because of him. It was there  _ for  _ him, and Tony felt almost faint with relief and happiness. "Three's enough," Steve said. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so…sensitive about it. There's just stuff-"

"You don't have to explain."

"Okay."

"Do you really have to go?"

Steve nodded, but he looked reluctant now. Before he had looked like an animal caught in a trap. Reluctance was a vast improvement. "Yeah. I have to work at four."

"What about after?" Tony suggested. "We could go to a movie or something."

Steve glanced at the phone in his hand. Raised it half-heartedly. "I've got…"

"A date."

He shrugged. "Yeah. Sorta."

Tony took a step back. "Okay."

"What about tomorrow?"

MAY, TUESDAY 8:00 PM

"This is ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous."

"I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. You're doing great. Just-"

"Just nothing, Steve. I suck."

"Quit being such a baby, and try-"

"Try  _ what?" _

"Try choking up on it."

" _ Excuse me _ ?"

Steve put his hand to his face, but it couldn't conceal the pink blush covering his cheeks, or the grin--all flashing teeth and red lips--or the laughter that kept bubbling out.

"Just-" he laughed again. "Just, you know, move your hands."

Tony looked at him levelly.

They had been out here for awhile. There were other people around, but not really near them. Tony had rented out most of the surrounding batting cages--on the sly, of course--so they could have at least the illusion of pricacy, and he was glad. Not only because Steve was smiling and laughing, but because Tony actually did suck at this, and having it be just the two of them made that part a little easier. Embarrassment was always better in private. But for some reason, he didn't mind Steve seeing it.

"No," he said. "I don't know how to move my hands on this. Why don't you come show me? How to move my hands. On this." He lifted the bat a little. "This giant, phallic-"

Steve laughed again, but took the bat out of his hand. "Okay, okay, you can stop now. You've made your point."

"Have I? 'Cause I haven't even gotten to the part about keeping my eye on the balls yet."

"Please don't."

Tony took his hand off the bat. "Fine," he said lightly. "Why don't you take over for awhile. Show me how it's done."

Steve smiled at him again, and it was the little soft one that Tony was starting to really love. The one that meant he was the only thing on Steve's mind. The one he'd fallen asleep thinking about last night, and the one he'd woken up thinking about this morning. He wondered if he'd dreamed about it in the interim. He hoped so.

"Okay," Steve agreed. "I'll hit a few so you can see. Then it's your turn again."

"Okay."

"Watch me."

"Don't worry."

And he did watch. He watched the way Steve gripped the bat, the way his fingers tightened on the handle, the way the muscles in his back flexed beneath his t-shirt, the way his hips pivoted slightly, and his eyes narrowed with concentration. He watched the intensity that dropped over him while he waited for the ball, then the satisfaction when the bat connected with it.

He watched.

After he hit a dozen balls, Steve turned back to Tony. "Well?" he said. "Did you see?"

Tony nodded slowly. "Oh yeah. I saw."

"So, do you wanna do it?"

Steve held out the bat, and Tony touched the end of it with one finger. "I'd love to answer that question, but I think we have an audience." He nodded toward a group of kids standing, open-mouthed at the chain link surround, watching. 

Steve leaned closer. "What are they looking at?"

"Same thing I was looking at. You."

Steve looked sidelong at them. His lips curved down in a pouty little frown. "Time's up, huh?"

"Looks like it."

"Can we come back sometime?"

"Whenever you want." He took the bat from Steve and put it down, and they walked out of the cage. 

One of the kids stepped forward, all of his ten-year-old confidence on display. "You hit good," he said. He was slight, dark-haired, dark-eyed. The other kids nodded when he spoke.

Steve blushed a little. "Thanks, I guess."

"You should play for The Mets."

Steve shook his head, but Tony was glad to see the way his face had brightened. The tilt of his lips. "Nah," he said. "I'm just messing around. But maybe you will."

"I want to."

"We'll come see you when you do," Steve said, and nudged Tony's shoulder. "Right, Tony?"

Tony nodded. The kids were still staring at Steve like he was a celebrity. Or a god. Tony knew the feeling. He was looking at him the same way. "Absolutely."

Steve lifted his hand to them, then pulled Tony after him away from the cages. They stopped for pizza, and Tony listened to Steve talk about baseball.  _ Baseball.  _ And he was interested. The way Steve talked, excited and knowledgeable, made it interesting. Of course, the things Steve's lips and tongue did were interesting too, and after awhile, Tony seemed to lose the thread of his thoughts as he watched Steve's mouth dance over the words.

Then Steve's phone rang and ruined it all.

He had taken it out of his pocket and sat it on the table, shoving it aside with the edge of his hand along with the shakers of parmesan and red pepper flakes. He'd shoved it aside like it didn't mean anything. But when it buzzed on the table-top, his eyes snapped to it. The words he was saying died on his lips. His tongue, pink and perfect, darted out and wet them.

Tony looked away.

Steve picked it up, then looked at Tony. "I have to-"

Tony shook his head. "It's fine. Go ahead."

He swiped the answer button and lifted it to his ear. "Hello?...Yeah, I'm just having dinner...Just with a friend...No, I...I know...No, I know...Yeah...Yeah, I  _ told  _ you…"

Steve slid out of the booth. He did it easily, gracefully, and without a glance in Tony's direction.

Tony watched him walk to the corner of the room and stand near the wall. He spoke in rapid bursts interspersed with bouts of silence. He ran a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes. He slumped against the wall. Tony watched as the fight drained out of him. Watched as he grew quieter, as the silences got longer, the times he spoke, fewer. Tony watched as he relaxed bit by bit. As his face softened. As that little smile teased his lips.

Watched as they formed the words  _ I love you, too. _

Tony turned his head. He didn't want to watch anymore.

Steve came back to the table a few minutes later. "Sorry 'bout that," he said quietly. 

Tony nodded. Picked up his fork and twirled it aimlessly. "You gotta go?"

Steve leaned forward in the booth. His eyes were diamond chips, boring onto Tony's. "It's not like what you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"I can always tell what you're thinking."

"We've known each other three days, Steve."

He shrugged. "I still know."

"Okay. Okay, what am I thinking?"

"You're thinking he's a bad guy. You're thinking he's controlling me, and that he's mean to me, and that he probably makes me suck his friends off while he watches-"

" _ Jesus,  _ Steve."

"Well,  _ weren't  _ you?" he asked, and he was frowning now. That anger and frustration that first-impression-Tony had brought out in him was printed plainly on his face, twisting it into a mask of anxiety. And Tony hated it. Hated that he was part of the reason it was there. He didn't think it was all his fault. The guy--the nice, non-controlling,  _ I love you, too  _ guy--he was partly to blame too. Just because Steve couldn't see it, didn't mean it wasn't true.

"I wasn't thinking exactly that," he said. "The sucking-off part is a bit of a stretch."

Although part of him had thought exactly that. 

He must have been convincing though, because some of the anger on Steve's face eased. His eyes got a little warmer. "He's not a bad guy, okay?" he said. There was a hint of earnest pleading in his tone. Just a hint, and Tony felt his heart break for him a little- _ I'm so fucked-- _ but he kept silent and just listened. "It's just...it's complicated."

Tony closed his eyes. He got it now.  _ Complicated. _ He'd heard that one before. He'd never gotten to the  _ complicated  _ stage with anyone. The four people he'd banged while he'd been with Pepper had all been drunken one-night-stands. Not enough time for  _ complicated _ , but he still knew what it meant. Good old  _ complicated.  _ Code for  _ married. _

__ "I'm sorry it's complicated," he said, and Steve  _ must  _ have been able to read him, because he looked down at his hands resting on the table, then brought one up to cover his eyes. It was only when he let out a watery little sniff that Tony realized he was crying.

"No," Tony whispered urgently. "No, no, no, don't do that." He gripped the hand that still lay on the table. Gripped it and held it tight. "No, Steve, honey, don't. Don't do that. Don't cry."

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Steve said miserably. "I didn't know. When we first starting seeing each other, I-"

"He didn't tell you?"

Steve shook his head. "No. Not right out. I should have known, though. He  _ thought _ I knew." He let out a short, bitter laugh. "He thought I was smart.  _ I  _ thought I was smart too." 

"You  _ are _ smart," Tony insisted. "He should have told you."

Steve wiped his eyes. Sniffed again. "It's not his fault. It's mine. I was just so swept up in it. I thought it was  _ nice. _ Dinners at home. Movies on the couch, and then…you know. Other stuff." He glanced at Tony, then looked away, his cheeks pink. "I'd never really had anything like that. I liked it."

"Home?" Tony asked. "Whose home?"

"He keeps an apartment in the city. His family--god, Tony, his  _ family-- _ lives a couple hours away. He stays here sometimes so he doesn't have to commute as much."

_ I'll bet he does.  _

__ "He says they don't love each other," Steve said. "He says they're just staying together for their daughter. And I believe him. But do I believe him because it  _ is  _ true, or just because I  _ want  _ it to be true? Because I love him?"

He looked up suddenly, directly into Tony's eyes. Tony shook his head. "I don't know, honey."

Steve wiped his eyes again with the back of his hand. "Sorry," he mumbled. "You don't need to hear this. God, you must hate me. I wouldn't blame you. I hate me."

Tony laughed a little, and Steve winced. Tony moved his thumb across Steve's wrist. "Hey. No. No, Steve. I'd be the worst kind of hypocrite if I judged you for this. For anything, but especially this."

Steve turned his hand and closed it over Tony's.

"That doesn't mean I like it," Tony went on, and this time when he moved his thumb, it was over the delicate, vulnerable skin of Steve's inner wrist. "I hate it. Because I've been on every single side of that equation, honey, and they all suck."

"You cheated?"

"I cheated. I've been cheated on. I've been the guy the other guy cheated on his boyfriend with. I've been the kid whose parents cheated on each other." He laughed again. "The only thing I haven't done is have a kid and have to explain to them why daddy can only see them on weekends now."

He tightened his grip on Steve's hand, and Steve squeezed back. A little thrill shot through him, but it was counterbalanced with pain. Because this wasn't right. The other night, holding his hand on the doorstep, faith, and hope, and  _ right  _ was all he'd felt. But not now. Not like this. 

"I can't tell you what to do, Steve," he said softly. "But I can warn you that it's not going to get easier. And it probably won't get better, either." He shrugged. "At least it never did for me."

Steve nodded. "Okay."

"What are you going to do?"

Steve shrugged. Looked down at their clasped hands. "Don't know."

"Do you want me to beat him up?"

Steve laughed. His eyes sparkled. "No. No, but thanks for offering." He squeezed Tony's hand, then casually shot an arrow through his heart: "You're a good friend."

Tony tried.

He tried to keep the wince of pain off his face, but it was impossible. That arrow, that stinging, bloody, razor-tipped arrow lodged firmly in his chest. He'd known. He'd known they were "just friends", but the word was still unexpected. And it still hurt.

"Tony? Tony, are you-"

"I'm fine," he said. "Really. Just acid reflux. Someone made me be all physical tonight, then dumped pizza and beer on top of it. You can't do that to an old man and get out unscathed, Steve."

Steve smiled at him again. The little soft one, and the arrow went deeper. "You're not old, Tony. You're just right."

_ I'm so fucked. _

__ Tony let go of his wrist and sat back in the booth. It was late. He was tired now. And sad. And fucked. He knew it, but there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing. He was in love, and Steve was, too.

With someone else. 

And he had to know…

"What's his name?"

Steve sighed.

"I won't tell anyone," Tony said.

"I know you won't."

"So?" he pressed. "What is it?"

Steve ran a hand through his hair. It was a nervous gesture. A nervous habit. He closed his eyes. Opened them. The blue was startling in it's depth.

"Thad," he said. "Thad Ross."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who have read my previous series: You have more right to be pissed off at me than anyone. I am so so sorry! When the idea came to have Thaddeus Ross be Steve's secret boyfriend, I was appalled at myself. I still am.   
> Really am promising a happy ending, though. It might take a couple more chapters of dramangst, but we'll get there!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's complicated...

JUNE, SUNDAY 2:00 PM

It had become something of a ritual for them over the last while.

They met at the theater at eleven. They went in, Steve bought popcorn and a box of frozen Junior Mints for himself, and a bottle of water for Tony who insisted every time that he didn't want anything else. " _ Who eats popcorn and candy at eleven a.m., Steve, I ask you?!" _ They sat down, and halfway through the coming attractions, Tony would steal a piece of popcorn. Ten minutes into the movie, when Steve offered Tony a Junior Mint, he'd take it. Halfway through the movie, Steve would go out to the lobby, refill the popcorn, buy another box of Junior Mints, and hand them silently to Tony, who ripped into the box happily. "The frozen ones are the best," he'd whisper in Steve's ear. "I love you so much." Sometimes he'd share the second box with Steve. Sometimes he wouldn't. 

After the movie, they'd walk to the diner for lunch. They always had pie afterward. 

That's what they were doing now. Eating pie and drinking coffee. Steve had found an abandoned newspaper on a nearby table. It was an old-timey place. There was always one hanging around.

He put the end of a pen against his bottom lip and tapped it a few times. It was Tony's pen. He'd never carried pens before Steve started asking for one. 

"What's a four-letter word for 'forgive'?" he asked.

"I'll tell you what it's  _ not.  _ T-O-N-Y. 'Cause I'm never going to forgive you."

Steve rolled his eyes. "What'd I do now?"

"You know what you did."

Steve put the pen down with a sigh. "Okay," he said. They hadn't known each other very long in terms of days and weeks, but his tone was long-suffering, as if they had known each other for a very long time, indeed. "Tell me. Please. Then you'll feel better, and I can get back to the crossword."

"Never mind," Tony said lightly, and grabbed the pen and paper. "What's a five-letter word for 'sarcastic prick'?"

"Fuck you."

"That's seven letters, honey," Tony said, and they both laughed, looking into each other's eyes like they had been doing it for twenty years.

Steve stole the paper back, and held out his hand for the pen. Tony held it out of his reach. "Okay," he sighed. "Really. Tell me why you're mad."

"You bought me Junior Mints."

"And?"

" _ Two boxes _ of Junior Mints, Steve," Tony said. "And popcorn. And then you bring me  _ here _ -" Tony gestured extravagantly at the Formica tables and vinyl-covered booths. Steve was starting to smile. That special, soft one. Tony's favorite one. The one that started in the eyes then drifted down to the mouth. The one that made Tony weak every time he saw it. The one he dreamed about. Yeah. He  _ did  _ dream about it. "- and buy me a cheeseburger and fries, and then you order that fucking strawberry pie you know I can't leave alone. It almost feels like you're trying to kill me."

"Nobody told you to order another piece."

"What, am I just supposed to  _ not  _ order another piece?"

"Logically...yeah."

"Oh, fuck logic. Who gives a shit about logic? There's nothing logical about that pie, Steve. It defies logic. It illogic. No, it's  _ magic _ ."

Steve covered his face with his hands, but Tony could still hear him chuckling. When he emerged, his face was pink, his eyes brilliant. "You know, sometimes I think I've finally heard it all," he said. "And then you open your mouth again."

"Your life must have been so boring before you had me in it."

"Well, I don't know about boring, but it was definitely quieter."

Tony narrowed his eyes at him, and Steve tapped the back of his hand lightly. It was casual, that touch, small, insignificant in every way except for the fact that, to Tony, it was none of those things. Because Steve didn't touch him much. Because they were still "just friends". Because Tony was helplessly, hopelessly in love with him. Because Steve was still seeing Thad Ross.

"That was supposed to be a compliment, Tony," Steve said.

"Sounded like an insult."

Steve shook his head, looking at him with soft eyes and a soft tilt to his lips. "It wasn't."

Tony knew it wasn't. 

He held the pen out, and when Steve reached for it, pulled it away. "Sure that wasn't an insult?"

"I'm sure."

He handed him the pen. "Try 'thaw'."

"Doesn't work."

"How 'bout 'melt'?"

Steve's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Tony."

"You're welcome, Steve."

JUNE, WEDNESDAY 6:45 PM 

Tony stood outside the door, deep-breathing. He shouldn't be nervous. There was nothing to be nervous about. He had built a successful company from the ground up, there was no reason why he couldn't do this too.

He was still nervous, but he knocked on the door anyway.

"Tony!"

"Hi, Natasha."

She grabbed his arm and hauled him into the apartment. He'd never been here before, but felt immediately at home. It was small, sure, and the furniture was a bit lived-in, but there was a pile of toys in the corner, and shelves of books and dvds, and art on the walls, and it screamed "home" to him. Home, and family, and happiness.

His nerves started to dwindle.

"Thanks for coming over," Nat said, depositing him near the couch, and picking up her jacket. "Nick loves Steve, but he can be a handful. Sometimes it's a two-person job."

"I don't know how much help I'll be. I don't know anything about kids." He ran a hand through his hair, unconsciously mimicking Steve's nervous habit. "And I know even less about babies."

"There's nothing to it," Sam said, as he came in, Nick in his arms. "If he pees, change him, if he's hungry, feed him, don't drop him, and don't give him any whiskey or cigars before nine o'clock." He looked at Nat. "Did I forget anything?"

She shook her head. "That about covers it."

Sam thrust the wriggling little one into Tony's arms. "See? Nothing to it."

Tony curled his arm awkwardly around the chubby baby. "Umm, wait, are you talking about the kid or Steve?"

Sam shrugged. "Either one."

The nerves came back. Came raging back.

Then, like a miracle, Steve was at his side. "Don't listen to him. And don't worry," he said quietly. "It'll be a team effort."

The nerves disappeared.

Nat kissed Nick's round cheek, then pulled Steve down to do the same to him. She kissed Tony too, much to his surprise. "We'll be home about twelve," she said in between kisses. "Steve, you call me anytime. I've got my phone."

"We'll be fine. Go. Have fun." He followed her to the door and helped her with her jacket.

Sam kissed the baby too, then eyed Tony. "Keep it in your pants in my house, Stark," he whispered. 

Tony glared after Sam as he left.

"What did he say?" Steve asked, closing the door.

"He asked me to water the plants."

Steve smiled a little, puzzled. "Okay. That's weird. But okay."

"He's  _ your  _ friend, Steve, I just work with the guy."

"And yet here you are in his house, holding his kid. That's not a friend-thing, at all."

Tony bounced the baby, holding him against his chest. Nick looked at him with wide, fascinated eyes. "That's 'cause  _ you're  _ my friend. I'm here for you, not Wilson."

Steve came closer and put his hand on the baby's back. He smelled good. Some menthol aftershave and Ivory soap. It added to that "home" feeling. "Whatever you say."

"That's what I say."

Steve dropped a kiss to the top of Nick's head. "'Kay. Nat fed him, but are  _ you  _ hungry? Do you want to order something now, or wait for a little?"

Tony shrugged. "I could eat."

"Good. I'm starving. Do you wanna call for dinner, or hold the baby?"

"I'll call."

Steve took Nick from his arms, and carried him over to the couch. Tony took his phone out and called for pizza. He watched Steve while he ordered. Watched him as he lay the kid down, then tickled him until he giggled, saying silly baby-stuff while he did it. Tony had never wanted children. Never felt any parental urge in all his years, but seeing Steve play with the little guy on the couch gave him pause.

_ Maybe- _

But, no. No. Stark men were not father material. He only had to look at his own old man to know that. Besides, it wouldn't be the same. Not with someone else. Not without Steve. And he and Steve were just friends. 

"How's dinner coming?" Steve called. 

Tony shook his head as if to clear it. Clear that feeling of family and home away. "Great. But the guy said they're busy. It's going to be an hour."

"Perfect," Steve said, smiling up at him.

Tony beat down a sudden urge to lean over and kiss his mouth. It was hard. Harder than he ever would have believed. He had wanted to kiss him so many times since they'd met, but this was almost overwhelming. That feeling of  _ right  _ was back. It hadn't been this strong since that very first night, but here it was. Here, bold, intense, clanging in his head like a church bell.

_ I'm so unbelievably  _ fucked.

"What do you say we give this guy a bath? He goes down a lot better after his bath."

"You're the expert."

Steve laughed. "Not me. I was scared to even pick him up when I first came here. Nat literally sat on top of me with him in her arms the first couple times. She said if I could hold her, I could hold him."

"That's one way to do it, I guess."

"Yeah, she's a firm believer in diving right in."

"That's not a terrible quality," Tony mused. 

Steve stood and settled Nick in the crook of his elbow. "No. It's not."

They went into the tiny bathroom, and Steve handed Nick off to Tony so he could get the bath ready. Nick goggled up at Tony, his big dark eyes fixed on his face, and when Tony bounced him a little, he laughed.

"He's usually fussy with strangers," Steve said. "He likes you."

"I kinda like him too," Tony answered, and was rewarded with Steve's smile, and his eyes, and...and him. Just him. Just everything about him, and it was all Tony could do to not crawl into his lap there on the bathroom floor and just live there inside him forever and ever.

They put the baby in the water, and he splashed and giggled while Steve washed him, shielding his eyes from the soap when he rinsed his hair. Tony marveled at how gentle those big hands were. How careful. How skilled. He also marveled at the way his t-shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, but he tried not to think about that too much.

And he heard the knock on the door, but it didn't register in his head as something real, or at least something deserving of attention, until Steve stood up, lifting Nick up out of the water and wrapping him in a towel.

"That was quick. Here," he said, handing the baby to Tony. "Careful. He's slippery. I'll go get the pizza."

He had to grasp Tony's shoulders to jostle past him, and for one heart-stopping moment, they were pressed up against each other. But for the baby between them, they could have been of one flesh.

"Sorry," Steve murmured, stealing a glance in Tony's eyes as he passed. "Close quarters."

"Don't be sorry."

"I'll be right back."

"Okay."

He stood still after Steve was gone, willing his thundering heart to slow down, and that's how he heard Steve's voice change when he opened the door.

"Oh," Tony heard him say. "Hey. What are you doing here?" And his tone was no longer that one that sounded like sweet dark honey. Now it was stiff. Almost formal. Nick noticed the difference too. He whimpered in Tony's arms.

"You said you were babysitting tonight," another voice said, and while it was a nice voice, smooth and strong, it was also one that put Tony on edge from the very first syllable. Because he knew who it belonged to. He knew, and he hated it. "I thought I would come see how you were faring."

Tony stiffened, his arms automatically holding Nick tighter, almost protectively, and peeked out the doorway to the living room. If he craned his neck, he could just see where Steve stood by the door, but if he wanted to see the infamous Thad Ross, he would have to leave the bathroom, and he wasn't quite prepared to do that. Not yet, at least.

"You said you were going home tonight," Steve said.

"That was before you said you would be here alone." A hand came into view. It rested on Steve's hip. A shiny gold wedding band flashed on the third finger. Steve had told Tony once off-handedly that he had been getting it resized when they met. Resized.  _ Fucking piece of absolute shit, _ Tony thought at the time. The thought recurred now. Strongly. 

"I'm not alone, Thad," Steve said. "I told you Tony was coming over to help out."

The hand disappeared from Steve's hip, and while Tony didn't mind it one bit, it seemed to bother Steve. "Thad-" he said softly, almost too soft for Tony to hear, but he did hear it. And he heard the tone even better. A quiet plea. 

He heard Ross's tone too. Icy. Condescending. Tony's blood boiled. Nick whimpered again, and Tony rocked him, shushing him gently. "I assumed you were joking," Ross said. "I didn't think you would actually ask someone else to be here alone with you. I can't believe-"

"Thad, I've invited you over here a million times. You never-"

"Of course I don't come over! Your  _ friends  _ don't like me."

"They don't like the situation. They don't even know you. They've never even met you. If you'd just-"

"Just what? Jeopardize everything I have to placate your  _ friends _ ?"

"You wouldn't be placating  _ them _ , Thad, you'd be doing it for  _ me. _ "

" _ Everything  _ I do is-"

And Tony couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't take one more word. He came out of the bathroom. "Steve," he said. "Can you give me a hand? I'm kinda clueless here."

He spoke to Steve, but his eyes were on Thad Ross. He was an older man-older than Tony, anyway-but he had a distinguished, cool look, and Tony could understand what Steve found attractive about him. His hair was light streaked with silver, his eyes an intense gray. Probably more intense now. Now that they were on Tony, assessing him, lingering on his Metallica t-shirt, his expensive watch. Judging him exactly the way Tony was doing with him.

Steve exhaled roughly, ran his hand through his hair in that familiar, distracted way. "Yeah. Yeah, Tony, sorry."

"No problem."

"Just one second?"

"Sure."

"Thad," Steve said quietly, putting one hand on his arm. "Come outside, okay?"

Eyes still on Tony, he said, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your  _ friend _ ? Isn't that what you wanted?"

In Tony's arms, Nick began to cry for the first time that night. Tony rocked him, "Shh," he soothed.

"Thad, please? The baby..."

Ross stared hard at Tony for a moment, a cold, cruel twist to his lips…then suddenly, it was gone. Eyes that had been hard and steely, became warm and soft, resting on Steve's. Ross touched him. "Of course, sweetheart. Of course. I'm sorry."

_ Lying, manipulative, cold-hearted piece of shit. _

__ Steve put his arm around Ross. "It's okay. Just come outside, okay? Please?"

"Anything you want, Steve."

Steve escorted him out the door, then stood outside with him. Tony watched Steve talk to him, watched the way he touched him, his neck, his lip, smoothing things over as best he could. He watched as Ross  _ let  _ Steve do those things. He watched as Ross let Steve think that he  _ had  _ to do those things. Then he watched as Ross drew him closer, and kissed him very thoroughly, and Tony knew- _ knew _ -he was doing it knowing full-well Tony was watching. Knew he was doing it more for Tony than for Steve. Doing it to show him who was really in control of the situation. 

_ Fucking piece of  _ shit.

Tony went back into the bathroom. 

He held Nick in his arms, sat on the edge of the tub, and rocked him. He was a warm weight near his heart, right where he needed it most. The baby laid his little head on Tony's shoulder, his cries dissolving into small whimpers, then disappearing as Tony rubbed his back. "Shh," he whispered again. "Shh, it's okay. Everything's okay." He was talking to a sleeping bundle now, but he didn't care. He was mostly talking to himself anyway.

Tony heard the door close, heard Steve moving around, and looked up when he appeared in the doorway. He came inside, and sat on the closed toilet lid. He reached out and touched Nick's tiny head. The baby stirred, but didn't wake.

"I'm sorry," Steve whispered, not quite meeting Tony's eye. "I'm so sorry about that. I don't know why he came over here."

"'Cause he knew I was here," Tony said. "He was jealous."

"I made it awkward," Steve said, and his face was troubled, his eyes dark. "I made it awkward for you, and hard for him, and...and we were having a nice night. At least, I thought we were. And now I ruined it. I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony sighed. He had been feeling hurt and a little jealous himself, but those feelings were suddenly dwarfed by a surge of protectiveness and utter and complete love for Steve. And hatred for Thad Ross. It had only been vague dislike before, but now, now after seeing him in action, after seeing the way he was with Steve, after hearing that cold, almost taunting way of speaking to him, now Tony actually hated him.

"Hey, you didn't do anything. You don't have to apologize," Tony said. "You don't have anything to apologize  _ for _ . Everything's okay."

"It's all weird now," he said.

Tony huffed a little laugh at the glum sound of his voice. "It's not weird now," he assured him. "I mean, it doesn't have to be."

"You can leave, Tony. I'll understand. I don't know why you didn't just leave the second he showed up here."

"I don't want to leave." He shifted Nick from one shoulder to the other. The baby squirmed, and his mouth started to work as if he was suckling, but he stayed asleep. "Kinda want to put this kid down, though," he said. "I love him, but he's not wearing a diaper, and my luck is bound to run out eventually."

Steve smiled, and Tony's heart was instantly lighter. "I'll take him."

"No, just show me where, and I'll carry him."

"Down here."

Steve led him down a short hallway. There were two other doors, one firmly closed, the other hanging open. Tony glanced in as they passed. It was clean and orderly, the bed made up with a blue blanket and crisp, white sheets. There was a desk, and an easel in the corner with a canvas on it. There was a sketched-in outline of the city skyline, but no color yet. Tony recognised the style from some of the paintings hanging on the apartment walls, though. Steve had told him he wanted to study art. If he was this good already, Tony could only imagine what Steve would be able to do with a little guidance.

"In here," Steve said.

They went into the nursery, and Tony laid the baby on the changing table. Steve took over, quickly and efficiently diapering him and pouring him into his pajamas, all without waking him up, then lowered him into his crib. Tony watched, feeling a little awed by the whole thing. He was still pissed at Ross, but the jealousy was gone. Sure, he'd been the one who got to kiss Steve goodnight, but he didn't get to see this. He didn't get to stand here and watch him cover the baby with a light blanket, then kiss his fingertips and press them to his round cheek. He didn't get to see the smile on his lips or the gold tint of his hair in the bedroom lamp. He didn't get to stand here and pretend for one brief second that  _ this  _ was his life. That this was his house, and his husband, and his child, and now they were going to go have dinner, and watch a movie, then go to bed and fall asleep curled around each other. Ross didn't get to do that. Tony did. And maybe he'd never get to have it for real, but he had this to remember. He could think about this now whenever he wanted to. Think about this quiet, sweet moment, and remember how perfect and right it had felt, and that was probably enough. No man could have everything he wanted. This was enough. Just this one pretend moment was enough.

Steve snapped the baby monitor on, and nodded toward the door. If this had been real, Tony would have taken Steve's hand in his now. Instead, he put them in his pockets and followed him to the kitchen. 

Steve stopped at the counter and Tony stood next to him, near enough to touch, but not doing so. That  _ right  _ feeling was still there. It had trailed along after them, and now settled in a haze around them. The pizza was there, smelling like heaven, but Steve didn't open the box. He gripped the edge of the counter, and kept his head down.

"You okay?" Tony asked. 

"I didn't ask him to come over here tonight."

"I think I got that."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked. "'Cause it sounded like I asked him to come over and when he said no, I asked you, and that's not what happened." His fingers tightened in the countertop. Clutching it, like a drowning man clutching whatever he could to stay afloat. "I didn't call him. When Nat asked if I would stay with Nick tonight, I called you. I only called you. I wanted to do this with you."

For some absurd reason, Tony felt like crying. He thought that had been the case from the way Steve had behaved, but to have him say it out loud so plainly felt better than good. It made him feel like he was flying.

"Wow," Tony said. "Steve. I'm all aflutter."

Steve grinned, then shook his head. "Fuck you. I just didn't want you to think you were my second choice, okay?"

Tony leaned into him, against his shoulder, and stayed there for a few seconds. Long enough to feel the muscle beneath his shirt, long enough to feel his warmth, long enough to see that pink blush color his cheeks. "I'm glad," he said, and pressed his shoulder a bit harder against Steve's before moving away, at last. 

Steve didn't look at him, but he exhaled softly, and then he opened the pizza box. "Still hungry?"

"Yes. Very."

JUNE, THURSDAY 12:31 AM

"Thanks for coming over," Steve said.

They were standing on the doorstep. Tony's car was just down the block. He could see it from here, little gold flecks in the red paint glimmering in the street light. Steve wanted to walk him down, but Tony insisted he'd have to walk him back if he did, so after some negotiating, they agreed Steve could stand on the step and watch until Tony reached his car, then Tony could watch from the car until Steve was safely inside. It may not have been a perfect solution, but compromise was always sexy.

"It was fun," he replied, and in spite of the specter of Thad Ross appearing during the early part, it had been.

They didn't really  _ do  _ anything. They ate pizza, put on a movie, then ignored it while they talked. 

When Nick began to cry around ten, Steve warmed up a bottle, and Tony lifted him out of the crib and sat in the rocking chair to feed him. Steve sat on the floor, his back against the wall, watching. His face remained neutral, but there was something behind his eyes, something greedy and hot that made it hard to look at him. After a few quick glances, Tony kept his eyes on the baby. It seemed safer.

After they got Nick into his crib, they went back into the living room and put on another movie. Through some strange alchemy, the sofa suddenly seemed smaller. The room seemed warmer, Steve seemed bigger. His arms suddenly seemed like the perfect place to be, Steve's shoulder, the perfect place for Tony to rest his head. He resisted, and put his back against the opposite armrest, but somehow, his traitorous feet ended up in Steve's lap. After awhile, Steve's hand rested on his ankle and rubbed it with absent little strokes. When he stopped, Tony whined wordlessly, and nudged him with his toe until he started up again. He tried to pay attention to the movie, but droids, and Death Stars, and Stormtroopers didn't hold a candle to the feeling of Steve's hand on him.

The lightsabers were cool, though.

"We still getting coffee on Friday?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, if you still want to."

"You always know what I'm thinking. Do I want to, Steve?"

Steve's lips slanted in a tiny smile. "I'll see you Friday."

Tony briefly considered saying "Fuck it", and throwing himself into Steve's arms, but he didn't. Maybe if Thad Ross hadn't come here, hadn't already kissed him tonight, he might have done it, but he had come. He had kissed him. And Tony, who had never had a single complaint in that department, even as an eleven-year-old kid trying it out for the first time on his best friend, didn't quite dare do it. He didn't think he'd lose out on any comparisons Steve might make between them, he just didn't want to put Steve in the position  _ to  _ compare them. Even subconsciously. At least not in the same four-hour period of time. If he ever was actually lucky enough to kiss Steve Rogers, he wanted to be the only thing on Steve's mind. He didn't want even the shadow of Thad Ross between them.

So, instead, he just reached out and pinched a fold of Steve's sleeve in his fingers. "Call me tomorrow, okay?"

"Tomorrow, tomorrow or today, tomorrow?"

"Today, tomorrow, asshole."

Steve nodded. "Okay."

Tony almost said something else.

But, in the end, he didn't. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for all your comments! I always love reading them and interacting with you guys. It's part of what makes this worthwhile!   
> I'm a little late, but here's to the moms out there! And by "moms" I mean anyone who cares for and about the people, pets, plants, etc in our lives. I like to think we've all got a little "mom" in us❤❤❤


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more complicated...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like I haven't posted for a long time. Things have been kicking my ass. I have a long chapter written, but I was scared it was starting to get TOO long, so I decided to break it up into two sections. This one's a little short, but it was the most natural spot for a break. I will post the next part tomorrow or the next day.

JULY, SUNDAY 11:43 AM

Steve looked at his watch again, then looked anxiously up and then down the street. He didn’t see Tony. He didn’t see any of the three cars he drove. He didn’t see any of his suits, or his stupid t-shirts, or his sunglasses, or the reading glasses he wore when they sat in the diner looking at menus like they always did, in spite of the fact that they invariably ordered the exact same thing every time they went there. He didn’t see his hair, or his arms, or his hands, and Steve thought--no, _knew_ \--he’d be able to identify Tony by his hands alone if he were ever called upon to do so. He’d spent a lot of time studying those hands over the last couple of months. He liked looking at them. He liked how strong they looked. How perfect, even with the rough calluses on the fingertips. He liked the fine dusting of hair on the fingers, the nails that were always perfectly trimmed but sometimes had a little grease still under them when they met for coffee or a movie. Steve liked to pretend it was because of him. Because Tony was in such a rush to see him that he sometimes hurried a little too fast while washing up just so he could get there to see him on time. Steve knew that wasn’t what was really happening, but he liked to pretend it, all the same.

But Tony hadn’t rushed today. 

It was 11:43. He should have been here at eleven.

Steve hesitated to call him. He’d texted him once at 11:15, asking if he should go in and get the popcorn, but Tony didn’t text back. Tony _always_ texted back. Within seconds.

Steve texted him again at 11:30, just a quick, _Hey, are you coming?_ And still no answer.

He looked at his watch again. 11:52. And now he was worried. Officially, definitely worried.

He called him. “Tony? Are you okay? It’s almost noon, and I'm starting to get worried. Or nervous or something. Call me, okay? Please? Sorry if I’m being stupid. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

He _was_ probably being stupid. But Tony was never late when they made plans. He’d only been late the one time, but _that_ Tony wasn’t _this_ Tony. That was some other guy. This Tony was never late. This Tony never gave him any doubt, or cause to wonder. This Tony was sweet, and funny, and big-hearted. This Tony...was very late. And Steve was very worried.

He wanted to go to Tony’s house. Just go there, knock on the door, then go in, but was that too much? Was that too forward? Too selfish? Maybe Tony had just gotten busy. Maybe he’d decided he had something else to do. Something important Something better.

_Stop being so goddamn selfish!_

Steve slowly put his phone back into his pocket.

It was okay. He understood. Just because they had done this every Sunday for two months didn’t mean they were going to do it forever. He _was_ being selfish. Thad had been right when he'd said it last night. If Thad thought it, Tony probably did too. It was okay. Only a matter of time, really. Thad wasn’t the first person to point it out. Steve’s mother had, too. Right after his father died. Right before _she_ died. _Maybe if you thought about somebody else for five minutes, your father would still be here!_

Steve didn’t think that was actually true. His father’s death had been an accident caused by a winding road and a drunk driver, but he understood why she had said it. And he understood other stuff too...But he didn’t have to think about it if he didn’t want to.

He glanced up and down the road one more time, searching for Tony’s car, and when he didn’t see it, he left the theater, and went to the diner. He looked for Tony outside, then went in and sat down.

“You’re early,” the-- _their--_ waitress said. She waited on them every week.

“Yeah.”

“Are we waiting for Tony?”

Steve shook his head. Tried to smile. “No. He was busy. It’s just me.”

She patted his shoulder, consolingly. She was an older lady, sweet, motherly. Tony said she’d been there for as long as he could remember. “Do you want your usual, hun?”

Steve started to say yes, then changed his mind. He wasn’t hungry. “No. Just coffee, I guess.”

“Sure thing,” she said, squeezed his shoulder again, and left.

He got his phone out and looked at it. Thad had bought it for him when they started dating. Steve had tried to turn it down, but Thad insisted. He had bought him new clothes too. A Ralph Lauren camel-hair coat. A watch. Steve had drawn the line at the car he’d wanted to buy. It was too much. He couldn’t accept it. Thad sulked for a while but he got over it when Steve got on his knees and first apologized, then let him fuck his mouth until he came down Steve’s throat. When Steve tried to pull away, Thad clenched his fist in his hair, and said, “No. You’re going to stay here for a while. If you really want me to be happy, stay here and keep me happy.”

So, Steve stayed. He knelt there for a long time, Thad’s cock in his mouth, trying hard to think about nothing but keeping Thad happy. He wanted him to be happy.

Steve looked at his phone.

He hated this phone.

He wished he had his other one back.

He opened up his contacts and found Tony’s name. He smiled a little. It had taken him a minute to find it after Tony typed it in that first night.

_Second-impression Tony._

Steve touched it.

Maybe just one more time. Just in case.

Steve frowned when it went to voicemail. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Sorry I keep bothering you, I just...It’s okay. Nevermind. I’m sorry. Talk to you later.”

He hung up.

Drank his coffee.

Went home.

JULY, SUNDAY 6:20 PM

Steve woke from a troubled sleep to the sound of his phone ringing. He rolled over, feeling slow and stupid with sleep and the evening heat. He picked it up, saw Tony’s name, but before he could answer, it stopped ringing.

“Fuck,” he muttered, then called him right back. 

“Steve.”

His eyes filled with tears when he heard Tony’s voice.

“Tony,” he said, wiping his face. “Tony, hey. Hey.”

“Hi.”

Suddenly, Steve was very angry at himself. There was something wrong. That was obvious. Something was wrong, and Steve had just left him alone. Had given up after two texts and two phone calls. What kind of person was he? What kind of friend? Selfish. Thad _was_ right. So fucking selfish.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Tony, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry I was...I’m sorry. Please. What’s wrong?”

Tony laughed a little, and Steve’s heart decided it wasn’t going to seize up and kill him. At least not yet. “Why are _you_ apologizing to _me_?” Tony asked. He sounded tired. And sad. Steve wanted to kill whoever it was that made him sound like that. Even if it was himself. He’d die if it meant Tony didn’t sound so defeated anymore. It would be worth it.

“Because of whatever I did,” Steve said. “Did I say something? I didn’t mean to make you sad. Or mad. Or-”

“No, hey, stop. Honey, please stop. You didn’t do anything. You’ve _never_ done anything. You’re my good thing, Steve. You’re my best thing. I’m fine. _We’re_ fine. I think. I hope-?”

More tears fell, and Steve scrubbed them away with the back of his hand. “We are? I mean, yeah. Yeah. We are.”

Tony laughed again. It was soft, and low, and fond. Steve had never heard anything so nice in his entire life. “I’m sorry I didn’t show today,” Tony said. “I’m so sorry.”

“No. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. Are you okay?”

“This is helping.”

“What is it? Can you tell me?”

There was a long pause, then Tony’s breath as he sighed. Steve gripped the phone tightly, waiting. “My ex-wife called today,” he said. “It...threw me off a little.”

Steve’s stomach fell, but he kept his grip on the phone. _Oh._ “Oh,” he said. “Your wife. Right. I forgot you were married.”

“ _Ex_ -wife, Steve. We’re divorced, remember?”

_Right._ “Right.”

Tony sighed into the awkward silence that fell between them. Steve felt like he had said something wrong again. He felt like he needed to apologize--again--but he wasn’t sure what for, or how to go about it, so he just waited for Tony to talk instead. Or hang up. There was that possibility too. Possibility? Probability. Because that was what would happen. That was what should happen. Thad hung up on him a lot. Whenever he said something wrong, Thad would just hang up the phone and not answer until Steve called him three or four times to apologize. Tony had never hung up on him before, but-

“Do you want to go to the diner? Or come over here or something?”

_What?_ “What?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Do you want to? I want to. If that’s okay? I get it if you’re mad and don’t want to, but I want to. I want to see you. I kind of need to see you. Please? Steve? Please?”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, but he was already standing up, already shoving his feet into his shoes, already putting his keys in his pocket, already grabbing his jacket from the chair where he’d thrown it when he came home.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“I’ll come over, ‘kay? I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” 

“There’s no hurry. You don’t have to-”

“Fifteen minutes, Tony.”

JULY, SUNDAY 6:50 PM

He felt better once Steve was there.

He knew he would. He knew he’d feel that warm relief flow over him the second he laid eyes on him. He knew he’d feel his muscles relax, his nerves ease, his headache go away. He knew that just being near him would be enough to erase everything bad this day had thrown at him, and he wasn’t wrong. That’s why he didn’t call him earlier. Because it was getting harder. Being with him, but not really being with him. It was getting harder to not touch him, not hold his hand, not kiss him. It was getting harder to not give him everything he ever wanted, take him anywhere he ever wanted to go, show him everything he ever wanted to see. It was getting harder to not wrap him in a bear hug and assault his face with kisses. To not fall asleep listening to him breathe. To not tell him he loved him in every language in the known world. To not show him in every way known to man or beast.

It was getting harder.

But, he decided, the relief was worth the hurt. The pleasure was worth the pain. And now here he was, fifteen minutes after hanging up the phone, standing in front of him, ridiculously beautiful, ridiculously sweet, every single thing that Tony didn't want to live without. Here he was, looking at him with a worried eye, frowning that little frown, and Tony wanted him. Loved him so much, so, so much, and when Steve crowded against him and dropped his head onto his shoulder, Tony’s arms went instinctively around his neck, holding him in place, knotting in his hair, holding him. Just holding him. 

“Was that a fight?” Steve whispered. “Were we fighting? I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to, Tony. I don’t want to fight.”

Tony held him tighter. “No,” he said. “No, honey. Baby, we weren’t fighting.”

“‘Kay,” Steve said into his skin. His own arms crept around Tony’s waist and held on. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t want to.”

“Me neither.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! See you in a day or two!❤❤


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of chapter five. Just a hit of fluff...with a hit of angst. Because you can't have one without the other! At least not in one of my stories 😉

JULY, SUNDAY 7:30 PM

Tony ordered Chinese food, and they ate it in his bed.

"I don't have a TV out here," Tony said when the food arrived. 

Steve glanced around the living area. It was a sparse room. A couch, a chair, a coffee table. There were floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, but no--no television. Not much personality, either, which was surprising. Tony was all personality. This room didn't reflect that, though. The furniture was expensive, but bland. Just stuff to fill the space. Placemarkers for the things that should have made the house a home, but somehow, it just didn’t work. It made Steve feel a little sad. Made him wonder if this was why Tony had never invited him over before. 

"Do you  _ have _ a TV?" he asked.

"Yeah. In the garage," Tony said, then gestured down the short hallway off the kitchen. "There's one in the bedroom too."

Steve shrugged. "Okay."

Tony bit his lip, a nervous frown passing over his features. "Is that okay?"

"Unless you'd rather I didn't-"

"No," Tony said quickly, "no. If it's okay with you, it's okay with me."

Steve shrugged again. His eyes were on Tony's, but they were unreadable. One second blank, the next filled with emotions Tony couldn't name. "I'm okay," he said. "Are you okay?"

Tony nodded. "I'm okay."

"Then I guess it's okay."

They went into the bedroom.

There was a little more life in here, but Steve still didn’t think it reflected that manic, exciting, dramatic, beautiful energy that Tony exuded. It didn’t feel like Tony. It didn’t feel like  _ home _ .

But there was a TV.

Tony grabbed the remote and flipped it on. The bed was a king, and covered in a swirl of soft white sheets and a fluffy white duvet. “Sorry it’s kind of messy,” he said. “I really wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“Doesn’t look messy to me.”

“You have a forgiving soul, Steve.”

“And you have a critical eye, Tony.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and gave Steve a scrutinizing look. “There’s definitely something wrong here.”

“What’s that?”

He picked a single hair off the shoulder of Steve’s shirt, blew it out of his own fingers on a puff of his breath. “There,” he said. “Perfection.”

Steve blushed, and climbed up onto the bed. “Stop saying that,” he said. “I’m not perfect. Not at all.”

“You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve been all around the world. You’ve seen everything. You know that’s not true.”

Tony slipped onto the bed beside him, handed him a set of chopsticks. “I know no such thing.”

“Still,” Steve said. “I don’t want you to say it.”

Tony reached out and touched Steve’s hair, smoothing it back behind his ear. He did it unconsciously, with no thought, just going by feeling alone. “Okay.”

Steve sighed into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed for the briefest second, then opened again. Tony pulled his hand away, but he did it slowly, lingering a bit, brushing the ends of his hair between his fingers. 

“We should eat,” Steve said.

“Yeah.”

Tony turned the TV to some home improvement show, and they watched it silently, passing take-out containers hand-to-hand without even looking. Occasionally, their fingers would touch. Tony felt a little electric jolt every time it happened, and when the food was gone, he felt a pang of regret. He knew he should have ordered those pork pot stickers too. He could imagine handing them to Steve one by one, their fingers brushing every single time.

He took the containers and put them back into the bag, then lay back on the bed. Steve followed him, sliding down the headboard until he lay with his head on the pillows. He picked up the remote and pressed the mute button, then turned on his side.

“Hey,” he said.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Hey.”

“Do you wanna talk now?”

“Do you mean about Pepper?”

“I mean about whatever you want.”

Tony turned to face him. “What if I want to talk about you?”

Steve considered, then nodded. “Okay. You tell me something, then I’ll tell you something.”

“Anything I want?”

“Anything you want.”

“She’s getting remarried,” Tony said plainly.

“Oh,” Steve breathed. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“It’s okay.”

“Is it?” he asked. “Were-were you hoping to get back together with her?”

Tony laughed softly. “No, no, no. That’s not the rules we agreed on. I tell you something, you tell me something, remember?”

Steve huffed. “Tony,” he said, red lips pouting.

“Sorry. Rules are rules, Mr. Rogers.”

“Fine. Umm. I play the guitar.”

“I play piano.”

“I’ve never had a pet.”

“Me neither.”

“I’ve seen  _ The Shining _ forty-two times.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“Wow. Okay. Guess I know what we’re gonna watch next.”

“No.”

“But, Tony. It’s so good.”

Tony shook his head against the pillows. “No. I mean  _ no _ . I didn’t want to get back together with her.”

Steve smiled. “Oh. Okay.”

Tony didn’t try to interpret that smile, he just enjoyed it. Just let it warm him from the inside out. “Your turn,” he urged.

Steve was quiet for a minute, that little smile still on his lips, a blush creeping out of the collar of his shirt. “I’ve got something,” he said, “but I’m not sure if I should say it.”

“Just say it.”

“It’s pretty weird.”

“Now you  _ definitely  _ need to say it.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Tony thought he was gathering his courage, and he thought it was adorable. “Okay,” Steve said. “Here goes. I thought about you that night. After the restaurant last year.”

Tony groaned. “Great. That’s what I want to hear about. You sitting there thinking what an asshole I was. That’s not weird, Steve. That’s just mean.”

The blush deepened. “No, I-” he ducked his head into the crook of his elbow, hiding his grin in his smooth skin.

“Mmm. Seems like there might be more to this story.” Tony shifted closer. Narrowed his eyes. “Steve,” he coaxed, and grasped his shoulder to shake him a little. “Come on.”

He lifted his head, meeting Tony’s eye with a coy tilt of his lips. “You asked for it.” He took a deep breath. “I thought about you while I…” he rolled his eyes, “you know.”

Tony felt his breath halt in his throat. His heart stop in his chest. “Oh,” he said, and that’s all he  _ could _ say. There was nothing else. Nothing in his head except the image of a shirtless Steve lying on his bed, large hand stroking the skin of his own chest, brushing over his nipple, then drifting down toward the open button of his jeans, slipping inside the denim.

Goddamn his vivid imagination.

That coy smile left Steve’s mouth. An apprehensive frown took its place. Tony wanted to soothe him, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He was afraid of what he would say if he opened his mouth right now. Afraid too, of moving too much. Lying on his side like this, the sudden bulge in his jeans was fairly disguised. If he moved, it wouldn’t be. He could will it away. He was almost positive he could do that. He’d gotten good at it over the last few months. Funny that he’d never realized before that his secret super-power was using his iron-clad determination to get rid of awkward boners, but apparently, it was. That had come in very handy since he’d met Steve. The fact that he lived alone and could get handy with  _ himself _ wherever and whenever he wanted, also came in handy.

But  _ that _ particular super-power would not help him right now.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” Steve said. But he didn’t move away. He continued to lie in Tony’s bed, closer to the middle than on the left side where he’d settled when he first crawled into bed. Tony had taken his hand off his shoulder after shaking him. There was nothing to stop him from moving, but he didn’t. He stayed where he was. Close, very close, close enough for Tony to marvel at the length of those sooty lashes against pink cheeks every time Steve blinked. Close enough to get drunk on the scent of his aftershave. Get a contact-high from the heat of his body.

And that was doing nothing to help the situation at hand.

_ Come on, Iron Man. Get your shit together! _

“No,” he choked out, cleared his throat, and tried again. “No. It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind that I said it, or don’t mind that I did it?”

“Both,” Tony said, and his voice came out steady and sure. Mostly because that wasn’t a lie. He _ didn’t _ mind. At all.

_ At all. _

__ Steve’s eyes were an almost physical weight on him. Warm, intense, delving into the depths of his being. What was he seeing in there? Tony wondered. What could he see that allowed him to stay here, lying so close? What had he  _ ever _ seen? Tony knew what he saw when he looked at Steve. Sweetness. Goodness. Gentleness. Melancholy. But what did Steve see? Why did he stay?

Steve’s tongue stole out and wet his lips. Tony braced himself. This was the moment. It had to be. No matter what Steve saw in Tony, whatever it was that allowed him to stay here, that thing would also allow him to finally close the rest of that distance between them. It would allow him to touch Tony’s cheek, touch his hair, tilt his head just so, just enough so that their mouths could finally meet after all this time. Tony would finally know the texture of those lips, know the taste of his tongue, the slight sting of Steve’s teeth closing on Tony’s own bottom lip. He’d felt Steve’s heart against his chest when he’d held him in the doorway, but surely it would beat harder when they kissed? Tony’s own heart was pounding like a drum already, a steady Pagan beat in his pulse and in his ears. He wondered if Steve could hear it too. If he could feel it.

“Tony,” Steve said softly.

“Yeah?”

Now.

It was going to happen right now.

“It’s your turn.”

The breath left Tony’s body in a rush. “What?”

Steve looked at him steadily. “Your turn,” he said. “Tell me something.”

Tony laughed shakily. Rubbed his face with one hand. The moment wasn’t gone yet, but it was certainly retreating. Tony watched it go with a tiny mental salute.  _ See you later, my fair-weather friend. _

__ “Oh, baby,” he muttered. “There’s nothing I can say that will top what you just said.”

“You don’t need to top me, Tony,” Steve said, and Tony closed his eyes, absolutely sure Steve had no idea what he had just said, and the things it was doing to Tony’s guts. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,” Steve went on. His hand crept out, stopped just short of Tony’s t-shirt, and twisted a fold of the comforter between his fingers. “Tell me something. Anything, okay? Just talk.” he closed his eyes. “I like it when you talk.”

Tony let his gaze sketch over Steve’s peaceful face. The closed lids, the parted lips. Tony was finally catching his breath, but he didn't think he could talk much yet. Especially when faced with a soft, sweet Steve inches from him. “You tell me something else first,” he said. “ _ I _ like it when  _ you  _ talk.”

Steve looked at him. “Then you’ll talk more?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you something instead?”

“Sure.”

Steve’s fingers began to move on the blanket, twisting it a little. Steve kept his eyes focused on them. “Do you think I’m selfish?”

Tony laughed incredulously. “No.”

Steve sighed. "Thad thinks so." His fingers kept moving, continuously twisting the blanket between them. “My mother thought so, too.”

Tony chose to ignore the first part. The very last thing he wanted right now was to talk about Thad Ross while lying here with Steve. He focused on the other part. “I’m sure she didn’t.”

“No,” Steve said. “She did. She said so.” He glanced into Tony’s eyes, then looked back at his fingers. A tiny smile snuck onto his lips. It was sad. Lonely and sad. “She thought my dad’s accident was because of me.”

“That’s crazy.”

"Maybe. But she still thought it." Steve shrugged. “I think she needed somebody to blame, you know?” he said “And I was...easiest.”

Tony slid closer. He put his hand on top of Steve’s. Steve turned his immediately and laced their fingers together. “Why were you the easiest?”

“‘Cause she was already mad at me. She already hated me. She had for a while. Since I told them. About me, you know?”

Tony knew exactly. Howard had punched him in the face when he’d told his own parents. Maria didn’t get violent or emotional. She just got drunk. Howard got drunk too. So did Tony. His parents did it together. Tony did it alone. He passed out in the bathroom with his head on the toilet seat after downing more vodka than he ever had in his seventeen short years. Jarvis found him the next morning and helped him to bed, then stayed with him afterward, sitting in the chair next to his bed, reading a book and drinking tea until Tony woke up. When he did, he cried. J put a large, reassuring hand on his back and  _ let _ him cry. When the storm passed, he got him an ice-pack for his eye, then fixed him a cup of tea of his own. Tony didn’t like tea, but he drank it. For Jarvis, he drank it. And it helped. Jarvis told him it would help, and it did. And Tony loved him so much. Was so grateful.

He wished he’d known Steve then. He wished he could have shared Jarvis with him.

“Honey, you know that’s ridiculous, right?” Tony said gently. “Your dad died in a car accident. A drunk driver?” He squeezed Steve’s hand. “That’s in no way your fault.”

Steve nodded. “I know. I do know she wasn’t right about my dad, but sometimes I wonder about her.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve shrugged again. His hand moved inside Tony’s, squeezing his fingers, brushing his palm, tracing his knuckles, the lines at the base of his wrist. “It made her sick,” he murmured. “ _ I _ made her sick. She told me. She told me she couldn’t stand to be around me. My dad came around a little, but she never did. And when he was gone...” He laughed a little. There was no humor in it. Just hurt. Just misery. “She killed herself,” he said. “I think it was ‘cause of me.”

Rage lit a blaze in Tony’s stomach, and it burned with an intensity he had never felt before, even with all of the animosity he had directed at his own parents over his lifetime. No wonder he had that look of melancholy in his eyes. No wonder he didn’t believe in himself the way Tony and Natasha and Sam did. No wonder he sought solace in the arms of someone like Thad Ross. Tony didn’t pretend to know about the intricacies of the human psyche, but those things were obvious to even him now. Again, he wished Jarvis was here. Jarvis would know what to say. He’d know what to do, how to help Steve. Tony didn’t know how. All he knew was that he loved him. He loved him so much and he wanted to let him know that. Wanted to show him.

“Honey, no,” Tony said, and used the hand not holding Steve’s to cup the back of his head. “That’s not what happened. I know it. I can guarantee it.”

Steve closed his eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because I was in a bad place when we met,” Tony said. “I was fucked up from the divorce, I was drinking too much, fucking too many people. Too many bad people. It was bad. Scary.” 

Steve opened his blue, blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“No. Honey, no, do not apologize. You turned all that around. Meeting you that night. Having you leave me there like that.” He slipped his hand through Steve’s hair until it rested on his cheek. His thumb brushed Steve’s high cheekbone. “That’s when I decided I had to fix things. I had to turn that around. I stopped drinking as much. I started going to therapy again. Steve, you made everything better. You might have saved my life. And I was a total fucking stranger.” He shook his head. "There's no way your own mother would have hurt herself because of you. I'm not saying she wasn't upset, but baby, no. No."

Steve looked at him. His blush was fading, and along with it, the hurt. His smile, that tiny, soft, pleased one that Tony so longed for took its place. "You really did that after that night? You never told me that before."

"You didn't need to know before."

"Thank you. For telling me."

He chuckled. “Thank you for badass enough to tell me to fuck off.”

Steve looked at him through his lashes. It was a shy look, but that's not all there was to it. There was heat there too. Tony could feel it. “I didn’t tell you to fuck off.”

“Well. Maybe not in those words, but I got the message loud and clear.”

Steve curled into Tony’s chest and tucked his head under his chin. Tony ran his hand through his hair. Held his hand. “I’m glad you didn’t fuck off for good,” he whispered. 

Tony dipped his head into Steve’s hair. “Me too.”

“Do you want to talk now?”

“Not really.”

“You don’t want to talk about your wife?”

“No. I don’t. What if we just laid here for a minute. Would that be okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Tony caressed his hair, breathed him in. “Okay. Good.”

JULY, MONDAY 3:00 AM

He wasn’t sure where he was, but he woke feeling warm and safe. There was someone in his arms, someone pressed against his chest, someone soft, someone who fit against him just right, someone who felt comfortable and easy.

Steve slid his hand along their side. The muscle was firm beneath the fabric of their shirt, the skin of their neck smelled like oak and cool evening breezes. 

__ _ Tony. _

__ Tony had been facing him when he fell asleep. He must have turned sometime in the night because now they were lying like spoons in a drawer, Tony’s back against Steve’s chest, their bodies fitting neatly and naturally together, as if they were made from the same mold. 

It felt good.

It felt  _ right. _

The television was still flickering, casting blue-white shadows on the bed and the walls. Steve shifted, put his hand on Tony’s hip, sat up, looking for the remote control.

Tony made a sound in the back of his throat, a little grumble of dissent, and turned his head. His eyes were still closed, but his brows were drawn together in a frown. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered. “Sorry. Don’t wake up. I’m just looking for the remote.” He spied it on the foot of the bed, and leaned down to grab it.

Tony reached out, groping with his hand until it knotted securely in Steve’s shirt. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not,” he said, and turned the television off. He eased himself back onto the bed. Tony tugged his shirt until he moved against him and carefully fit his body back around Tony’s.

He sighed, pressed back into Steve’s chest. “Mmm. You feel good, baby,” he mumbled groggily. 

Steve smiled into Tony’s shoulder. “So do you,” he said, and then he was drifting again, drifting then falling with Tony there with him, held tight in his arms.

JULY, MONDAY 6:50 AM

He knew where he was this time, and he knew who he was with, and it felt good. It felt good to lie here with him in the quiet dark. It felt good to slowly come to consciousness, aware of the warmth and peace of being with someone. Someone who cared.

Tony was awake too. Steve could tell. He’d felt the subtle changes in his body as he woke. The way his muscles tensed then eased again as he lay back against Steve’s chest. Then his fingers when they began to move in tiny circles on Steve’s forearm. 

Steve exhaled a soft laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” Tony whispered, fingers still moving.

“Don’t know,” he said into his ear. “Tickles, I guess.”

“I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“Neither did I.”

“That’s very good to know.”

“How come?”

“I might need it for ammunition some-”

_ Beepbeepbeepbeep! _

They both jumped a little at the sound of the alarm. Tony groaned. “Fuck,” he muttered, and pulled out of Steve’s arms to silence the shrill cry.

Steve laughed again and rolled onto his back, stretching lazily. His bed at home was comfortable, but Tony’s bed was like a dream. A dream wrapped in silk and Egyptian cotton sheets. 

Steve bought his sheets on sale at Wal-Mart.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Too fucking early,” Tony said, and sat the clock back on the table. He yawned, then moved to lie back down. He stopped, meeting Steve’s eyes in the semi-gloom. He put his hand on Steve’s chest. “Can I?” he asked. “Just for a minute?”

Steve nodded, his eyes soft and dark.

Tony lay down and pressed into Steve’s side. He put his head on his chest, right over his heart. His arm lay over Steve’s waist, tightening until they were molded together again. Steve held him gently, touched his arm, his back, his hair. Tony nuzzled into his chest, rubbing his face against him like a cat.

“Don’t wanna get up,” Tony murmured.

“Me neither.”

“I’m too tired.”

“You work too much, Tony. You should take a vacation.”

“I don’t want to go alone.”

“Ask someone to go with you.”

Tony moved slightly. He turned his face into Steve’s chest, let his lips move against him when he spoke. “I don’t think you’d say yes.”

“I might,” Steve said, and pushed his fingers fully into Tony’s hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. Tony sighed in pure bliss. “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere you want. Anywhere in the world.”

“Right here feels good,” he whispered.

Tony closed his eyes and exhaled a soft laugh. It hurt, that laugh. It hurt so much. “Oh god, Steve, you’re killing me.”

Steve went very still. “Tony?”

Tony kept his eyes closed and pressed his forehead into Steve’s chest. He gripped his t-shirt in his fist. “This doesn’t really mean anything, does it, Steve?” he asked softly. “This. Last night.  _ Now.  _ Nothing's changed. Has it?”

Steve sighed, and Tony felt as well as heard the frustration that was suddenly there. “I don't know.”

“You know that it means something to  _ me _ , don’t you?” he pressed. “You know how I feel about you, right?”

Steve brought his hand up to his head, ran it through his own hair in his familiar nervous gesture. “I know,” he said.

Tony’s brain screamed at him to stop talking. To not make this bad between them. To just leave well enough alone. 

But his heart...his heart…

“I’ve never asked you for anything, Steve,” Tony said. His hand was still curled into Steve’s shirt. He kept it there. Held on tight. “I’ve never asked you to do anything. Or feel anything-”

“I know,” Steve said. “I know, Tony, it’s just…”

“Complicated.”

Steve flinched as if Tony had physically struck him. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say it like that,” he pleaded. “I know how it sounds. It doesn’t-”

“Hey,” Tony said, and crawled higher up Steve’s lean body so he could put his hand on Steve’s cheek, look into his eyes. “Hey, honey, I’m not saying anything,” he insisted. “I’ve never asked you for anything, and I’m not asking you now. Not really. I just wondered if you thought it might ever get  _ un _ complicated?” He brushed his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone, then moved it to his jaw, tracing it, feeling the rasp of his light stubble. “If you think...you and me...someday?”

Steve gazed up at him. His head lay on the pillow, his eyes were on Tony’s but they were conflicted, part of them rooted in reality, part lost in a fantasy or, maybe, envisioning the future. “That sounds nice,” he said. 

Tony lay back down, resting fully against Steve. He brushed his mouth along his jawline, not kissing him, just caressing him with his lips. “It  _ does _ sound nice,” he agreed. “It could be nice. I mean,  _ this _ is pretty nice.”

“Yeah. It is.”

Tony heard the “but” in his voice, and sighed. He lay his head on the pillow, right next to Steve’s. He curled up in his arms, gratified when they tightened easily around him. “Just think about it, okay?” he asked. “I’m not pressuring you. This isn’t some kind of ultimatum. I’ll still be your friend no matter what, but  _ if _ it happens, if it  _ does _ get uncomplicated, and you ever want to give it a shot." He shrugged a little. “I’ll be here.”

"I don't want you to wait for an 'if', Tony. That's not fair to you."

"You let me worry about that, okay?"

"I can't help it if I worry."

Tony chuckled, nuzzled his cheek. "Try, okay? For me?"

Steve closed his eyes again. Tightened his grip on Tony even more. “Okay,” he said.

They laid together for another hour, drifting, touching, holding each other as the hour got later, the sun got higher, neither wanting to move, neither wanting to wake up fully to a reality that included jobs, and responsibilities, and other people.

Especially other people.

Especially one other person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I will try and get the next chapter up next week. I'm just writing it now, so wish me luck!   
> P.s. Happy birthday, Tony Stark! I could have lived my life without you, but it would not have been as sweet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. I just wanted to drop a quick note before the chapter to say how much I love you all. These have been tough times lately. Stay safe, stay strong, love and support each other, please. I love all of you. I can't tell you how much.

JULY, THURSDAY 9:00 PM

“A break. You want to take a break.”

They were sitting on Thad’s bed in his city apartment. It was where they always ended up. They had “date nights” twice a week, and “lunch dates” another two times per week. Their “dates” were spent indoors, either at Thad’s house or sometimes at a hotel near his office. A few times, when Thad was working late and there was no one else on his floor, Steve had come to his office. He brought sandwiches from a deli, but Thad was never very interested in the food. All he really had eyes for was the sight of Steve spread out naked on his desk or the couch in the corner. Once, he’d taken Steve to the conference room, bent him over the head of the table, and fucked him mercilessly. He pulled out right before he came, and finished on his boss’s chair, muttering about _abuse of power_ while he did it. He left the room after that, leaving Steve standing there, head pressed against the table, shaking, hard, guts roiling in his stomach. He’d never been afraid of Thad, and he wasn’t now, but as he straightened, pulled his jeans up, found some Kleenex on the sideboard and cleaned up Thad’s semen as best he could--he hoped it wouldn’t stain, but there was really not much more he could do--he found inside himself the _capacity_ for fear.

And he _was_ afraid of that.

“I didn’t say break _up_ , Thad,” Steve said, running his hand through his hair. “Just...maybe take a little breather. A little time. Apart.”

After showering, Thad had changed into a pair of pajama pants and a robe. Steve hadn’t showered yet. He didn’t always. Thad liked to see him lying in his bed covered in his come. He’d told Steve more than once, that if he had his way, Steve would never move at all. He would just keep him there on his bed forever. The first couple times he said it, Steve had felt flattered. To think someone like Thad Ross could want him so much. But he hadn’t felt as flattered lately. In fact, when Thad said it lately, Steve had started to feel a little sick.

“And why do we need a ‘breather’?” Thad asked.

Had his voice always held that note of condescension? Steve wondered. Surely not. He would have heard it before now, wouldn’t he?

Wouldn’t he?

Steve turned on his side, grabbed his shirt from the foot of the bed. “Things have just been kind of, you know, tense lately.”

“Tense.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Tense.”

“Between you and I.” Clipped. Measured. _Cold_.

Steve looked at his hands. Bit his lip. “Kind of. Yeah.”

Thad cleared his throat, folded his hands across his middle. His back was against the headboard, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle. In spite of his casual posture, he gave off the impression of a man fully in charge. “Steve,” he said evenly, “how long are we going to pretend this has nothing to do with that Stark you’ve been hanging around with?”

Steve’s hands clenched on his shirt. He shoved his head through the hole and pulled it on. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Tony,” he muttered.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“We never had any _tension_ before you met him.”

“He’s my friend,” Steve said. “That’s all.”

Thad looked at him, pierced him with his eyes. He was good at that. He had been from the beginning. It had been his eyes that first caught _Steve’s_ eye. They caught them again now, and pinned him in place

“ _Is_ that all, Steve?” he asked icily. “Are you certain of that?”

For a moment, the image of him and Tony lying together on Tony’s bed invaded his mind. The feel of him against his chest, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his little sighs of contentment as Steve ran his fingers through his hair and along the smooth muscle of his neck. It had felt so good. So comfortable and warm. So much of what Steve wanted in a relationship--in a life--with someone.

_If you think...you and me...someday?_

“Yeah,” he said faintly.

“Hmm. I wonder.”

Steve turned away, sat on the edge of the bed. “Stop it, Thad,” he said over his shoulder.

“Stop what? Stating the obvious?”

Steve put his head in his hand. 

Thad slid closer, put his arms around Steve’s waist from behind. Steve tensed, his muscles contracting at Thad’s touch. When did that start happening? Had it always happened? He bent and kissed Steve’s shoulder. “I feel like I’m losing you,” he said, kissing him again. “You don’t even tell me you love me anymore.”

“You’re not losing me,” Steve whispered. “I do love you.” He turned his head at Thad’s insistent urging, and kissed his mouth. Thad licked into him with a firm tongue, claiming him. Steve pulled back. “Do you love me?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

Steve sighed. “I don’t want to have to ask.”

Thad kissed him again, possessively. “And yet you’re asking.”

Steve ran his hand through his hair, pulling it between his fingers. It was hot in here. With Thad pressed up against his back, his arms around him, his mouth now working over his shoulder and neck, kissing, biting, sucking, leaving marks and bruises, it was hot. Too hot. His skin felt tight, sticky with sweat and Thad’s come. It had never bothered him before. And it had only been an hour. There were nights when he laid there for three, four, sometimes five hours in the same state, and it didn’t bother him. Only an hour tonight. An hour lying in bed, his arm over his eyes, listening to Thad get up, shower, change, call his wife, go into the kitchen, eat an apple--Steve’s stomach grumbled a little while he listened. They hadn’t eaten dinner. Just went straight to the bedroom. The only thing he’d had in his mouth tonight was Thad’s cock--listening to the water turn on, fill a glass, then clunk down onto the countertop. Then Thad came back into the bedroom and got into bed. An hour. Only an hour.

_He told her he loved her._

On the phone. He always did.

_I love you, sweetheart. I'll see you on Friday._

He’d said it to _her_.

Steve stood up, grabbed his jeans and pulled them on. Thad watched, anger flitting around his mouth and eyes now. 

“What are you doing?” Thad asked.

Steve lifted his chin a little, unconsciously. “I guess I’m asking,” he said. “ _Do_ you love me?”

Thad rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like a child.”

Steve ducked his head. His shoulders fell. The words _I’m sorry_ rose automatically to his lips, but they didn’t come out like they always did. For some reason, they didn’t come out. He didn’t say them.

He didn’t want to.

“Did you hear what I said, Steve?” Thad snapped.

Steve kept his head down, but he nodded slightly.

“You’re certainly not rushing to change my mind, are you?”

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re not rushing to answer my question either,” he mumbled.

Thad stood up. He was nearly as tall as Steve, but not as muscular, not as broad. He did, however, exude an authoritative air that Steve could not deny. It reminded him of his father. “What did you just say to me?” Thad asked, his voice edged with ice.

Steve shook his head. “Nothing.”

Thad blew out an irritated puff of air between his pursed lips--lips Steve had kissed a multitude of times--and rolled his eyes again. “You really are something else sometimes, do you know that?” He folded his arms. Gazed at him with an eyebrow imperiously raised. “First you ignore my calls this afternoon-”

“I was at work-”

“ _-then_ you’re fifteen minutes late, then you tell me you want to break up, then you ask me ridiculous, self-serving questions, and _then_ you sulk when I don’t just bow down and give you what you want.” He shook his head. “And this is all after I find out you spent the night with Stark a few days ago.”

Steve’s shoulders fell even more. He was right. God, he was _right_. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly.

“I honestly don’t know why I bother with you at all, sometimes.”

Steve scrubbed a tear away with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I’d like to believe that,” Thad said, and his voice, while still cold, had warmed a little.

“I am.”

“You should prove it.”

Steve sunk slowly, reluctantly, to his knees. Part of him rose up in protest. Part of him railed at himself to get up, just get up tell Thaddeus Ross to fuck off, and stomp out of the apartment forever. Maybe slam the door for good measure.

He wanted to do that. He wanted to do that so badly.

_Well, why don’t you?_

The voice was Tony’s on top, but underneath, it was Natasha’s too. And Sam’s. And the kind, motherly waitress from the diner, and his boss from the factory a long time ago, who used to bring enough food for Steve to share when he noticed Steve never brought a lunch to work. And it was Steve’s voice too.

He stood up.

Thad blinked in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Steve said quietly. “Just...I still think I need that break.”

“Is that right?”

Steve nodded. He didn’t look him in the eye. He couldn’t. His resolve couldn’t take it.

Thad looked him up and down. His face held cold, cruel disdain. Nothing else. No love. No pain. No nothing. He shook his head. “Then get out.

Steve went.

JULY, FRIDAY 8:00 AM

He had a hard time falling asleep. He lay there, eyes open in the silent dark, thinking about the other night, how nice it had been having someone--having _Steve_ \--here with him. Thinking how it had felt to be in his arms, to have his fingers in his hair and caressing his neck. Thinking about the way he smelled. How big he was. How solid. How warm. How sweet.

He’d thought about it alot. Every night for the last three nights. For hours.

Tony missed him.

They hadn’t seen each other since that night. They had talked on the phone, and texted back and forth, but they’d both been too busy to get together, and Tony missed him. Missed his eyes, and his smile, and the way he quirked an eyebrow at him sometimes to punctuate a thought or a sentence. He missed him. He wanted him and he missed him.

Steve. 

Last night had been the worst. Tony had barely slept. He’d twisted and turned, rumpling the sheets, alternating between throwing the blankets off and burrowing underneath them every thirty minutes. He just couldn’t get comfortable. He couldn’t turn his mind off. It felt like something was wrong, something that he couldn’t fix. He wanted to call Steve, but by that time, it was three AM, and Tony didn’t want to wake him up, so he powered through, and finally dropped off around four. He’d never been happier to hear that seven o'clock alarm.

Tony got up, made coffee, showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, got dressed. Fridays were a short day at the office. When he’d started SI, he’d vowed to let his people leave early on Fridays so they could get an early start on their weekend. He thought it would make them happy and more productive during the week. His father called him a fool.

“You’re paying them on salary, son,” he’d said, pouring another drink. “Get everything you can out of them. I can guarantee they’re stealing from you. This is where you get it back from them.”

Tony ignored him.

His employees were happy, and that made him happy. If that made him a fool, then at least he was a happy one.

But he’d never _really_ been happy until he met Steve.

He could call him now. It was eight o’clock. That was a decent time to start calling someone, but he thought he’d get to the office first. Give Steve a chance to get up and get moving. He didn’t work on Fridays. Tony thought he could let him sleep in. A little, anyway.

He could text him, though

He took his phone out, shot a quick, _Good morning, beautiful. Call me later_ , then opened the door. 

And stopped.

“Steve?”

He was sitting on the floor outside Tony’s door, curled up tightly into himself.

“Steve?”

He curled tighter.

Tony squatted down on his haunches in front of him. “Hey,” he said quietly. He reached out, and Steve flinched.

Tony pulled his hand back.

“Hey,” he repeated. “Steve? Honey?”

Steve blinked up at him, lifted his head as if coming out of a dream. “Tony?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion or sleep. Tony didn’t know which.

“Yeah, baby.”

He smiled a little at the pet name. “Hey.”

“Hey. Whatcha doing?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Did you call me?” Tony asked, pulling out his phone, even though he knew he didn’t have any calls. He’d just checked. He checked the second he woke up. He always did.

Steve shook his head. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“How long have you been out here?”

Steve shrugged. It was a tired gesture, and Tony could see lines of strain around his eyes and mouth. “Don’t know. I walked around for awhile before I came here.”

Tony reached out again--slowly, so Steve could see his empty hand--and touched his arm. “Did something happen?” he asked.

Steve nodded.

“What was it?”

Steve looked at Tony’s hand on his arm. Touched it absently. “Thad,” he whispered.

A razor-sharp sliver of hate slipped into Tony’s heart. He gripped Steve’s arm tighter. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Steve said. “At least-” Pause. “No.”

“What happened?”

Steve drew his lower lip into his mouth and chewed it. Tony waited, rage burning inside his every pore. _No,_ Steve had said, he hadn’t hurt him, but Tony had heard the lie in his voice, and could see the truth in the droop of his shoulders, the red-rimmed eyes. _I’ll kill him_ , Tony thought, and it wasn’t a flippant, throwaway threat. It was a clinical, methodical thought-process. _I will quite literally kill him_. Thad Ross’s life hinged on Steve’s next words.

He waited.

“I think we broke up.”

Tony closed his eyes. His entire body seemed to have seized up, including his heart. He fought down the urge to pound on his chest to get it to lurch back to life.

Steve’s brows contracted. “Tony? Are you okay?”

He nodded, his fingers curling into Steve’s arm. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He leaned forward and touched Steve’s hair, cupped his cheek. “Are _you_ okay?”

Steve leaned into Tony’s hand, resting his head in his palm. “I don’t know,” he said, and closed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“Baby,” Tony murmured. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

“‘Kay.”

Tony stood and helped Steve to his feet. Steve didn’t let go of his hand as Tony opened the door and led him inside the apartment.

“Can I take a shower?” Steve asked, as Tony took him through to the bedroom, and helped him slide his jacket off his shoulders. “I’m...I feel…” he sighed, and Tony slipped an arm around his waist, taking some of his weight. Steve leaned against him. “I’m dirty,” he finished, and his hand rose to his face, wiped his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but they were red and raw. He had either been crying, or had been holding tears in for a very long time. Tony rubbed his back in long strokes. Steve didn’t look at him, but he lay his head against Tony’s, taking in the comfort he was offering. “I’m dirty, Tony.”

Tony blinked away his own sudden tears. He hurt. He hurt for Steve, for the things he had said, for the way he was feeling. Tony gathered him in his arms and held him tight against his chest. Steve stiffened, then melted into the embrace. Tony sagged a little under his weight, but he straightened his back and bore him up.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay now.”

“Is it?” Steve asked into his neck. “I don’t know.”

Tony nodded. “ _I_ know,” he said. “It’s going to be fine.”

Steve breathed a laugh. “You sound sure.”

“I am sure.”

Steve slid his arms around Tony’s waist. “I told him I needed a break,” he said. “That I thought we should spend some time apart.”

Tony clenched his hand into a gentle fist, catching Steve’s gold hair within it. “And what did he say?”

“Some...stuff. He was mad.” He sighed. His eyelashes fluttered against Tony’s skin. “Why does that keep happening to me, Tony? What am I doing wrong?”

“Why does what keep happening, baby?”

“Every time I tell somebody what I need, they get mad.” He shifted within the circle of Tony’s arms, and Tony rubbed his back again until he quieted. “Or...or they just take what _they_ need instead.”

It wasn’t often that a Stark, especially Tony Stark, was rendered speechless--Pepper used to threaten him with a roll of duct tape she swore she carried in her purse--but he was speechless now, the only thought in his head, a less-than-articulate _What the fuck?_ He couldn’t imagine anyone getting mad at Steve. And what was this other part? This ‘taking what _they_ need’ part? That worried him. Worried and upset him. 

Tony ran his hands over Steve’s back and up through his hair. “Did somebody take something from you, baby?” he asked gently. “Something you didn’t want to give?”

For a moment, Steve seemed on the verge of saying something, but then he shook his head. “I don’t really want to talk about that right now,” he said.

“That’s okay,” Tony said, and pet the back of his neck. “You don’t have to. That’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“Will you say that again, Tony?”

“Everything’s okay, honey. Everything. I’ve got you. I’m going to make sure everything’s okay.” Tony pulled back so he could look into Steve’s eyes. He looked exhausted, but better. Easier somehow. “Is that okay?” Tony asked.

Steve let out a breath and smiled. It was small and tired, but Tony wouldn’t trade it for anything in the entire world. Steve nodded.

“Well, okay then,” Tony said. “That’s settled.”

Steve laughed under his breath. He took a step away from Tony’s side, but kept hold of his hand, holding it like a lifeline. “Are you sure you don’t mind if I shower?”

“I don’t mind at all. I’ll see if I can find you something to wear.”

Steve looked at him doubtfully. “I don’t think your clothes will fit me.”

Tony flapped his hand. “Pfft. I’ll find something. I’m resourceful.”

“Yeah. You are.”

“Was that sarcasm, Mr. Rogers?”

“Not this time.”

“Good.”

Steve squeezed his hand, then finally let it go. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Stop. Don’t thank me. That feels like a step backward.”

“I don’t wanna go backwards.”

“Me neither.”

Steve smiled a little, and went to the bathroom door. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time.”

He went into the bathroom, and a minute later, Tony heard the water in the shower start drumming against the tile. Tony touched the door, let his fingers linger on it, feeling the wood grain. He’d been smiling when Steve went into the bathroom, but he wasn’t smiling anymore. His eyes flashed with bright, brilliant hate. His skin was pale but for a spot of color high on his cheekbones. His brows were drawn together in a sharp frown. If he had looked in a mirror in that moment, he would have been terrified. He had never looked more like Howard in his life.

_I don’t really want to talk about that right now._

So, yes. The answer was yes.

But was it just from Thad Ross, or had someone else taken what they _needed_ too?

Tony burned to know. 

He hated to know.

Tony shook his head. He could wait for Steve to tell him. He'd be there if and when he was. Tony was sure he could coax it out of him, but that would make him no better than the other people who simply took instead of waiting to be given. He wouldn’t do that. He would never do that. Steve deserved so much better than that. So much.

He went to the dresser and rummaged around until he found an old pair of sweatpants and a blue t-shirt that would probably fit over those muscles. It had belonged to a guy from Germany who had flown in for the weekend a couple years ago. After they concluded their business, he had taken Tony out for copious amounts of vodka, and Tony had woken up to the guy snoring loudly on his sofa. So loudly, he could hear him from his bedroom down the hall even with the door closed. They’d parted with a friendly handshake that afternoon. They still did business, and they were still friendly. Tony had stayed at his house last August when he went to Germany for a product launch. He heard him snoring again, like a chainsaw in the woods, and the next morning, his wife apologized to Tony over and over again. Tony just laughed.

It had been a good weekend.

He tapped on the door. “Steve?” he called. “Here’s your clothes, okay?”

“Okay.”

He sat the clothes down on the floor, and went into the kitchen, trying to give Steve a little space. He loosened his tie, and called in to the office. He told them he wouldn’t be in, and his assistant just said, “Sure, Tony, no problem. See you Monday.”

It was nice knowing he could just leave them to do their work. Nice knowing he didn’t have to be there to hold their hands. Especially when there was someone here who might need a hand to hold on to today.

He poured another cup of coffee and drank it down. By the time it was gone, he could hear movement in the bedroom. Tony had taken his suit coat off and hung it on the back of the chair. He took his tie off now too, and put it on top of the coat, then went back down the hallway.

Steve was lying on his side in Tony’s bed, the covers pulled loosely up to his waist. His eyes were closed, and Tony just stood looking at him for a second, drinking him in, aching for how beautiful he was, how perfect, how right he looked lying there in that bed. The left side had always felt so empty before, no matter how many times Tony had tried to fill it with one random hook-up or another, but here now, with Steve lying so peacefully in that space, it didn’t feel empty anymore. 

He looked up as Tony came nearer and sat on the side of the bed. Tony brushed his fingers over Steve’s cheek, touched his neck. “Feeling a little better?” he asked.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.” He reached up and touched one of the buttons on Tony’s shirt. “You were going to work,” he said with a wry smile. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to work?”

“I wasn’t going to work,” Tony scoffed. “I was just going to get bagels.”

“Do you always dress up so nice to get bagels?”

“What? I can’t look good for the bagel-guy?”

“Is there something I should know about you and the bagel-guy?” Steve asked. He was still touching the button, toying with it, and looking at Tony from under his long lashes. 

“Nah. He’s not my type.”

Steve smiled and laid back on the pillows. “You can go to work, Tony,” he said. “Nat’s probably worried anyway. You can just drop me off on your way.”

Tony crawled over him to get to his side of the bed and flopped down beside him. “I’m not going to work,” he said. “I already called in. What kind of example would I be setting if I said one thing then did the exact opposite?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah. That’d be a real bad example. You know, going to work instead of playing hooky to hang out with me.”

“I’m not playing hooky,” Tony protested. “I’m tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night. I’m gonna take a long nap, and you should too.” He could not stop his hand from reaching out and touching Steve’s neck, tracing the line of his throat with his thumb. “Besides,” he said quietly, “even if I did go in to work, you could still stay here. You can stay here whenever you want.”

“Really?” Steve asked. “You wouldn’t mind if I stayed for a couple days?”

Tony ran his finger along Steve’s jaw. “I wouldn’t mind it you stayed for a couple _decades_ , Steve.”

“Here?” Steve asked. “In here?”

Tony gestured toward the open door. “You could stay in the guest room, if you wanted. It’s pretty nice. The bed’s comfy, and there’s a TV. The bathroom’s right across the hall.” He shrugged. “But if you wanted to stay in here, you could. I _can_ keep my hands to myself.” He drummed his fingers once on Steve’s cheekbone. “Contrary to what it may seem.”

Steve took Tony’s fingers in his own hand and pressed them against his mouth. His eyes drifted closed, and he sighed. “I’d like to stay here for a little bit. I love staying with Nat and Sam, but it might be nice to have a change of scenery.”

“I’ve got good scenery,” Tony said. “The lady who sold me the place called it a ‘million-dollar-view’.”

“Do you ever even look out that window?”

Tony chuckled. “Not really.”

“You really wouldn’t mind if I stayed here?”

“Are you kidding? I’d love it.”

“You don't have to keep your hands to yourself," Steve said, glancing shyly up at him, then closing his eyes again. "I like it when you touch me."

Tony's stomach flipped over lazily. "I like it too," he said.

"You don't _have_ to. Touch me, I mean. If it's weird for you-"

Tony shook his head. "It's the _least_ weird thing I think I've ever done, Steve," he said. "At least that's the way it feels to me."

Steve looked at him with dark eyes. "That's the way it feels to me too," he said, then frowned. "But I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage. I don't want you to feel like I'm using you. I'm not, Tony, I-"

Tony sighed and pressed his forehead against Steve's. He could feel his breath on his mouth, on his cheek. Tony touched his face, looked steadily into his eyes. "I trust you, baby," he said. "I know you wouldn't hurt me. And I hope you know I'd never hurt you."

"I know. And I'd _never_ hurt you," he whispered, and the earnestness in his voice was almost painful.

Tony smiled. "I know." His heart was hammering in his chest, his stomach now doing easy, constant somersaults. But it felt good. _He_ felt good.

_I don't want to go backwards_.

"But I do steal the covers sometimes,” Steve said, nuzzling closer to Tony. “Just so you know.”

Tony closed his eyes. “I already know that.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tony pressed against him, slipped his arm around his shoulders. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I _am_ sleepy, Tony,” Steve whispered, curling into Tony’s chest. “I think I will take a nap.” He clenched a fist into the back of Tony’s shirt, holding him tight. “You’re gonna stay and take one too, right?”

“Yeah.”

Tony listened to Steve’s breath grow deeper, more even. He felt the gentle rise and fall of Steve’s chest against his own. He ran his hand over his neck, his shoulder, his back, mapping him with his hands. He had never in his life been in a situation like this. Usually, it was fuck first, ask questions later...or not at all. He and Steve had never even kissed. And the things they'd just said. Somehow they felt like promises. Tony didn't know if they were the kind that would ever be truly fulfilled, but right now, he didn't care. Right now, all he cared about was the feeling of Steve's arms around him, the feeling of Steve in _his_ arms.

They held each other tightly, Steve in his sleep, Tony on the verges of it, and that sense of rightness was so intense, so heightened, that Tony could not hold it in anymore.

“Steve?” he whispered, but he slept on, oblivious. “Honey?”

Still nothing.

Tony cuddled him close, put his lips against his ear. “I love you,” he said, and he realized that the last time he spoke those words and actually meant them, had been to Jarvis as he lay on his deathbed. The thought brought tears to his eyes. He wiped them with one hand and clutched Steve closer with the other. “I love you, Steve. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end here, but not quite yet. I know i keep saying this, but I'm not 100% sure where we're going, so we'll be surprised together. I am sorry to say I don't think we've seen the last of everyone's favorite just yet...dun dun DUUN! But he won't be around for long. I promise!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some stuff...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

JULY, MONDAY 5:00 AM

The first time it happened, Steve thought he imagined it.

He had spent the weekend at Tony’s house after his break-up with Thad. He spent most of it in bed, either with Tony or without him. He was exhausted. The tension and worry and fear--yeah, fear. He could admit it finally. He’d been afraid--that had enveloped him for months finally broke, and he spent thirty hours curled up in the softness of snowy white sheets, either soundly asleep or slipping around the fringes of it. 

He woke up enough to text Natasha and tell her where he was and promise to meet for coffee on Monday afternoon, but he made no promises about what would come after. He didn’t  _ know _ what would come after. All he knew was that he was tired, and Tony’s bed was soft, and Tony himself clung like a koala when he slept, and that was all he really wanted to know right now. It was all the knowledge that would fit comfortably in his brain at the moment, and that was fine with him.

He called in sick at the bakery on Saturday and Sunday, but on Sunday night, he reluctantly asked Tony to set his alarm for five o’clock. Tony groaned and whined extravagantly, but in the end, he did it, and they fell asleep with Tony’s head on Steve’s chest, and his arms holding him tight.

When the alarm went off, Tony burrowed his head deeper into Steve’s chest. “Make it stop,” he muttered.

Steve reached over and shut the alarm off.

“My hero,” Tony said, and somehow, impossibly, he seemed to discover a way to get closer. To hold Steve tighter.

Steve held him, his fingers moving in lazy strokes up and down his back. Tony’s shirt had ridden up a bit on his side, exposing his skin, but Steve avoided touching it.

He really wanted to touch it.

But he didn’t.

He moved, trying to signal to Tony that he needed to release the death-grip he was holding him in, but Tony whined and hung on with stubborn strength. Steve smiled in the darkness, loving the way it felt. But it was getting later by the second, and he really did have to go to work today.

“Tony,” he whispered. “I gotta go. You gotta let me up.”

“No.”

“You have to.”

“Don’t want to.”

Steve laughed softly. “Me neither, but I’ve got work.”

Tony groaned and pressed his face into Steve’s chest. “Tell me again why you work somewhere that makes you get out of bed at fuck o’clock in the morning.”

“It pays the bills,” Steve said. “And people like bread.”

“Aren’t people all gluten-free now?”

“You eat bread, Tony. You love bread. You had half a loaf of garlic bread last night.”

“I said ‘people’, not me.”

“You’re not people?”

“It’s five AM, Steve. Don’t make me explain my molecular make-up this early in the morning.”

“Was that a yes or a no?"

Tony cuddled closer. “You’re mean pre-dawn,” he observed. “Let’s go back to sleep for a few hours. Apparently nice-Steve doesn’t get up until eight.”

Steve laughed and rubbed Tony’s back again. “Neither does non-pouty-Tony.”

“See? Mean.”

Steve laughed again. And  _ that  _ was nice. Lying in bed with someone, laughing. He had never done that with anyone except Nat. And that wasn't the same thing. 

He gave Tony a squeeze. “Sorry, Tony,” he said, “but mean-Steve really does have to get up.”

“Fine.”

Tony rolled off his chest, and Steve was struck with a need to pull him back again. He resisted. He really had to go to work. He swung his legs off the edge of the bed and stood up. He stretched, back popping in satisfying little cracks, and went into the bathroom. He showered and shaved, and as soon as he opened the door, he smelled coffee.

He went into the kitchen and Tony immediately handed him a cup. “Here,” he said. “Mean-Steve needs this.”

It was perfect. Black with just enough sweetness to take the edge off. Steve sighed. “My hero.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to make up for earlier.”

“Maybe,” Steve said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “Is it working?”

Tony raised his own mug, took a sip. “Maybe.”

“You didn’t have to get up and make me coffee. Thank you.”

Tony stepped closer, brushed an imaginary wrinkle out of the shoulder of Steve’s jacket. “Well,” he said, “I can’t very well send you out into the early-morning dark uncaffeinated, now can I?”

Steve smiled a little. “I guess not.”

And that was when it happened.

The part he thought about all day. The part he replayed on the way to work, while he clocked in and scrubbed and suited up. The part he thought about while he waited for the dough to rise and bake. The part he thought about while he and the other three guys went out for what they still called a “smoke break” even though none of them actually smoked anymore. The part he thought about while he waited for Nat at the diner so they could have coffee after work.

The part where it felt like he and Tony should have kissed. But didn’t.

It was a small moment. Tiny. Miniscule in the grand scheme of things, but while it was happening, it encompassed Steve’s entire world. He felt everything. The heat of the mug in his hand. The slippery breeze of the central air on the back of his neck. The gentle pressure of his belt against his midsection. And Tony, of course. He could feel him too. His eyes, his nearness, his aura. Steve could feel it all, and for those two seconds when they should have kissed, Steve--the real him, the elemental him, the  _ all  _ of him--had never been more present or more focused.

And then it was over.

Tony stepped back and drank from his cup again. Steve released the breath he had not realized he’d been holding. The kitchen was once again, just a kitchen, not a sumptuous dream of sensation. And time resumed its normal, everyday pace, not stretched out like warm, sweet taffy.

Steve gulped the rest of his coffee. Tony took the cup from his hand. “Go forth,” he said. “Slay yon dragon.”

Steve smiled. “Gluten-free dragon, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“See you tonight?”

“See you tonight.”

By the time Nat came through the door and kissed him hello, Steve had convinced himself that moment hadn’t actually happened at all. That he’d just imagined the whole thing.

JULY, FRIDAY 9:00 PM

They went to the movies and were walking home when it happened again.

Well.

The next time he was slapped in the face with it and could not pretend it away, or shrug it off as his imagination, anyway. Because it had happened a lot over the past five days. Every day. Every morning. Every night. Every time he came home from work and Tony was there waiting for him. Every time he waited for Tony to come home. Every time he realized he was thinking of Tony’s house as home. Every time he thought of  _ Tony _ as home.

But those small moments he could brush off. He could act like they weren’t real. Not because he didn’t  _ want _ to kiss Tony. He did. He wanted to very badly. With every part of his mind and body. And he thought he knew how Tony felt.

But, what if they’d waited too long?

What if Tony didn’t like it?

What if  _ he _ didn’t like it?

What if he liked it and Tony didn’t?

What if a hundred other things?

What if it was just easier to pretend it wasn’t happening at all.

But walking home with Tony now, all Steve could think about was how nice it would be if Tony would hold his hand.

Tony was talking about the movie, some stupid action thing that had a lot of car chases, but no real story, which was good because the explosions and random, un-sexy sex-scenes kept Steve’s mind off the sensation of Tony’s shoulder pressed against his for two solid hours.

“I’m just saying it’s unrealistic,” Tony said. “That car could never go that fast.”

“It’s a movie, Tony,” Steve countered. “It’s not supposed to be realistic. It’s supposed to be escapist.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Even escapism has to have some basis in reality,  _ Steve _ .”

“I don’t know,” he mused. “I kind of like getting lost for a little while.”

“This coming from the guy who’s seen  _ The Shining _ a hundred times.” Tony held up his hand and ticked off the points on his fingers. “Alcoholism. Spousal abuse. Child abuse. Mental illness.” He shook his head. “Why is it you want me to see that movie again?”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve said. “We’ll just watch  _ Toy Story _ again, with all that really realistic stuff about toys coming to life when there’s nobody around.”

“Hey,” Tony said sharply. “Leave  _ Toy Story _ out of this.”

Steve grinned. “Alright. Fine. The dinosaur is kind of funny.”

There was a low rock wall running between the houses and the street. Tony jumped up onto it and walked along it, hands in his pockets. He shook his head. “‘The dinosaur’,” he muttered under his breath, then balanced on one foot, the other held out to the side, little rocks grinding under his heel.

Steve tilted his head, looking up at him. “Come down from there,” he said.

“You come up.”

“I don’t want to come up. Come down.”

“Come on,” Tony said. “Come up here. We’ll be just like Johnny and Baby in  _ Dirty Dancing _ . Is that escapist enough for you?”

Steve rubbed his face with one hand, trying to suppress a laugh. He could do that around Tony if he really tried. Sometimes. “I don’t want to be like Johnny and Baby.”

“Sure you do,” Tony said. “Everybody does. That movie’s a classic.” He held his hand out. “Come on, Baby. Come on up.”

“What? Why am I Baby?”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “You just are.”

“I’m not Baby.”

“Fine,” Tony relented. “You can be Johnny. I guess.” He shrugged. “Even though…”

“I don’t want to be Johnny either,” Steve said. “I don’t like Johnny.”

Tony put his hand over his heart. “God, it’s like I don’t know you at all.”

He couldn't suppress the laugh anymore.

Tony cast him a baleful eye. “You don’t like Baby, you don’t like Johnny. Who  _ do  _ you like?”

“I like the dad.”

Tony groaned. Steve didn’t think he’d ever heard him sound so pained. “The dad? The  _ dad _ ? Are you kidding me? Nobody likes the stick-up-his-ass  _ dad _ , Steve.”

He shrugged. “I do. He gives Baby all that money when she asks. He helps Penny, and he doesn’t judge her for it, even though abortions were illegal then. Yeah, he gets pissed at Baby, but she  _ was _ keeping stuff from him. She kind of deserved it.” He shrugged again. “And in the end, he apologizes to your boyfriend, Johnny, so that should make you happy.”

Tony laughed. “Alright, alright, alright. The dad’s the best ever. You got me. That should make  _ you  _ happy.”

Steve glanced around. There weren’t many people on the street. Just a few, puttering around like they were, enjoying the evening air. A couple on the bench across the street, holding hands. A bunch of kids playing basketball on a court, laughing and talking shit. A yapping dog in the distance. It was almost dark. People would probably start to move on soon. The streetlights had popped on. They shined in Tony’s hair, casting him in a surreal, bluish light.

_ What if it was really really good? _

The thought caught Steve off-guard. He hadn’t ever thought about that before. All of his “What-ifs” had circled around the idea of it being _bad_. But what if it was good? What if it was great?

_ You got me. _

That  _ would _ make him happy.

He stepped closer to the wall and caught the leg of Tony’s jeans in his hand. “Please come down?” he said and Tony gave him a small, considering smile. As if he had heard the train of Steve’s thoughts. As if he was wondering “What-if” too.

Tony nodded. “Alright, Johnny. Catch me,” he said, and then he fell. He twisted slightly in mid-air, so he didn’t see the shocked look on Steve’s face until he was locked firmly and securely in Steve’s arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve scolded. “What if I didn’t catch you? What if I dropped you?”

Tony laughed and rubbed his cheek against Steve’s shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

Steve felt all the fight flow out of him. Every drop. Somewhere he could still hear that dog barking. The stars were mostly obliterated by ambient light from the city, but he was pretty sure they were still up there. He thought the world still existed around them, but for now it had fallen away. Tony’s weight felt good in his arms. His eyes sparkling with mischief and something else. Desire, maybe. Nobody had ever looked at Steve that way. He’d seen want, sure. Lust. Greed. Ownership. But not this. This was softer, more sensual. This wasn’t just the look of someone wanting to get off. It was the look of someone who maybe wanted to see what they could achieve  _ together _ . What heights they might be able to reach if they helped each other along the way.

Steve moved his thumb against Tony’s side. “No,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t. I’d never let you drop. Just...just warn me next time you’re gonna do something scary, okay?”

Tony ran his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. “Okay.” 

He tilted his head a little.

Now. 

It was going to be now.

“Have you seen my dog?”

And the world crashed back into place.

Steve blinked. There was a kid standing beside them. Looking up at them. 

He blinked again, trying to find his voice. His way back to reality. “Umm…”

In his arms, Tony let out an exasperated breath. “Steve,” he said, and he loosened his grip automatically. Tony slipped away from him, onto his feet. 

Steve ran his hand through his hair. “I, um, I heard one,” he said, jerking his head down the block. “A minute ago.”

“Where?” The kid--and he  _ was _ a kid. Maybe twelve--wasn’t crying, but he was visibly upset. Eyes big and round. Pale face, anxious. He didn’t have a leash, but a couple of plastic bags hung out of his pocket. Steve’s heart went out to him. Poor kid. Just going out to give the family pooch one last walk before bedtime.

“What kind of dog is it?” Steve asked. “Maybe we can help find him.”

“I don’t know,” the kid moaned, and now tears welled in his eyes. “We adopted him from the shelter.”

Steve looked at Tony helplessly. He looked a bit like a lost puppy dog himself. Tony shook his head. “What’s his name, kid?” he asked.

The kid sniffed. “Loki.”

“‘Kay. Let’s go find Loki.”

JULY, FRIDAY 9:40 PM

He was only a block away. A little dog with sleek black fur, happily barking and trailing his leash. They chased him around the street and into a kids’ playpark. A few times, they had him cornered, but he evaded them with slippery ease. He kept barking. Steve could have sworn he was laughing at them.

In the end, he wasn’t really  _ caught _ . When he got bored of the chase, the little dog simply stopped running, and went over to the boy and sat on his haunches. He grinned up at him, obviously waiting for a treat. The boy knelt down and hugged him enthusiastically, then dug in his pockets and gave the little dog what he wanted. He barked once, and let the kid pick up his leash.

Steve and Tony walked them home. Steve watched him go up the stairs and waved. Tony hung back. He sat on the curb and called a cab. After the kid was inside, Steve sat next to Tony. He sat close, but he didn’t touch him. Neither said anything. There didn’t seem to be anything  _ to _ say. The moment had passed. But not like before. There was no pretending it hadn't been there. It had been there. And they'd let it slip through their fingers. Steve had let it slip through  _ his  _ fingers. And now a whole new set of "What-ifs" paraded through his mind:

What if that moment never came again?

What if Tony was finally tired of waiting?

What if this was over before it ever even really started?

Steve glanced sidelong at Tony. He stared straight ahead, lost in his own thoughts. His own set of "What-ifs", maybe. 

After a few minutes, the cab pulled up. They got in it and went home. Went to bed.

They didn’t touch in bed either.

That was a first for them.

JULY, WEDNESDAY 10:00 PM

“I don’t know what the big deal is.”

“I want my  _ shirt _ .”

“You’ve got five hundred shirts, Tony. Why do you need that specific one?”

“I just...Jesus fucking Christ. Forget it. Just forget it.”

“Look, I’m sorry you had a shitty day, but don’t take it out on me.”

“I’m not taking it out on you!”

They were standing in the bedroom amidst a sea of black t-shirts. They were everywhere--on the bed, the floor, hanging from the doorknob. The closet door stood open, and the drawers of the custom built-ins all yawned open drunkenly, their contents spilling out like gossipping tongues.

A little cool-front had drifted down between them over the past week. Neither of them wanted it. Neither of them liked it. But there it was. It had moved in stealthily, insidiously, sneaking in and quietly stealing the peace that had been there before. Steve still stayed there. They still slept in the same bed, but it felt awkward now. The easy, comfortable existence they had built together, now seemed strained, and it put them both on edge. 

Case in point...

Yeah, he had a lot of t-shirts, but the one he wanted--the only important one--was not here. That wasn’t Steve’s fault. That was in no way Steve’s fault, and Tony knew it. He also knew where his shirt was, and that just pissed him off even more. He hadn’t thought he was taking it out on Steve, until Steve had pointed it out, and then a huge shame-bomb had exploded in his face. He wanted to take him in his arms and apologize and kiss him until he forgave him, but the cool-front wouldn’t let him. He wasn’t sure if Steve wanted him to. After the other night, he wasn’t sure if Steve would  _ ever _ want him to.

Tony yanked his phone out of his pocket without looking at Steve, and pressed five. It felt like a long time since he'd pressed that button.

“Hello?”

“Pepper did I leave my shirt there?”

“Which shirt?”

He sat heavily on the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “My  _ shirt _ , Pep. My Jarvis-shirt. The Back in Black, AC/DC shirt. You  _ know _ which shirt.”

She sighed in his ear, a tired sound he could have done without tonight.

“I haven’t seen it.”

“Will you look?” he asked. “In the set of drawers in the guest room where I was sleeping? Try the third one down.”

“It’s been almost a year, Tony.”

“I know that, Pep, but will you please just look? I need it."

“Alright.”

He heard a voice in the background. The new guy, he assumed, and that made him even more angry. His head was pounding. He kind of wanted a drink. And he wanted his goddamn shirt. She was right. It had been almost a year. He remembered the last time he’d worn it specifically. Sitting on the deck of the house he’d lived in with Pepper, drinking a Scotch, watching the sky, thinking about his life, about how it was going downhill, how his marriage was over, he didn’t have any friends, and Jarvis was gone. That last most of all. He always missed Jarvis most when he was feeling low. He always missed him when things were unsettled.

Like today. Like now.

It was raining when they woke up this morning. It was raining, and Steve had to leave early again. Tony didn’t want him to go. He could feel a headache starting already, and he just wanted Steve to stay home and be with him, but he didn’t feel like he could ask him, and then Steve left. And then Tony had spilled coffee on his suit coat the minute he got to work. And then there had been a small fire in the warehouse. Everyone was okay, and nothing was really damaged, but he brought a guy in to go over all the electrical down there anyway. He wouldn’t put his people at risk, even though Howard spoke up in his head and told him it was fine, not to be ridiculous, that it was a waste of money. Then to top off the day, he got a flat tire on the way home. He got out of the car and changed it. In rush hour traffic. In the fucking rain. And Steve still wasn’t home when Tony got here.

Tony had forgotten he went to his  _ other _ job on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

So, he ate dinner alone. And watched TV alone. And showered...which he always did alone, whether he wanted to or not. And when he got out, all he wanted was to lie down and wait for Steve, but he wanted to do it wearing his shirt. The one he’d bought for Jarvis once as a joke, and had assumed he’d thrown away. But when Tony was going through his things after J died, he found it in his drawer. Right on top. Folded and pressed, but a little faded, as though it had been washed a few times, and Tony wondered if he’d worn it after all, under his dress-shirt, or maybe on his days off. Tony couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that image, but it made him happy to think about it.

He’d taken the shirt and worn it when he needed it. When he needed to be comforted. When he needed to feel better. He needed those things today. But he couldn’t find the shirt.

He’d jumped on Steve as soon as he walked through the door, snapping at him for not taking his shoes off at the door and tracking water in the house. Steve blinked, said sorry, and kicked his shoes off. When he went into the bedroom and saw the tornado that had swept through, he blinked again. 

“Whoa. What happened in here?” he asked, and Tony lit into him again. Steve just stood there while Tony bitched about his shirt being gone, and Steve not calling to tell him he was going to be late, and  _ yeah, _ I know you told me, but you could have called me today. Why didn’t you call me today? And when Tony was done, Steve just asked him why he needed that certain shirt.

And now here he was. 

Waiting for Pepper Potts-no-longer-Stark to tell him what he already knew, that the shirt was at her house--their old house--and not here where he needed it, and he’d yelled at Steve, and he hated himself for that, and he missed Jarvis, and this whole day could just go fuck itself.

And he heard the front door open and close.

Tony’s head jerked up. Steve wasn’t standing there in the doorway anymore. He left.

Tony blinked back sudden tears.  _ Good job, son _ , Howard said, pouring a drink inside his head.  _ Lost another one. _

“Pepper?” he said. “Any word on that shirt?”

“I’m looking.”

He wiped his eyes. Waited.

“Tony, I’m sorry, I don’t--oh wait. Here it is!”

The surprise and triumph in her voice made him laugh a little in spite of the pain he was in.

“I can’t believe it’s still here,” she said. “I thought you took everything.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I, umm, I think I left it on purpose.” He wiped his eyes again. “I think I thought I’d be coming back.”

“Oh Tony.”

“I know.” He sighed again, but his headache was starting to ease. There was that, if nothing else. “I know, honey. It’s stupid.  _ I _ was stupid.”

“You weren’t stupid.”

“Yes, I was,” he insisted. And he had been. He knew he had been. He'd treated her badly, and apparently, he hadn't outgrown that trait as much as he had hoped he had, because look at this. This mess he was in now. This fuck-up he had created with Steve. He picked up one of the t-shirts lying on the bed and looked at it. He looked at the doorway where Steve had been standing. Where he wasn't standing anymore. Would he ever stand there again? Tony didn't think he could go on if he never got to see Steve standing in that doorway again. “Not because I think we should be together now, because I don’t," he said, his mind still on Steve. "I think we both know we’re better off this way.”

“Yes,” she said gently. “We are.”

“I know. But I was stupid for treating you the way I did. All the stuff I did.”

“We just wanted different things,” she said carefully.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “You wanted me to be sober and faithful, and I didn’t.”

“No,” she whispered, and he could see her in his head, kneeling by the dresser, Jarvis’s shirt in her hands, red hair pulled back into a messy bun. Her brow would be furrowed, her lips turned down. He hoped the new guy would never be able to conjure up the image of her frown as clearly as Tony could. He hoped he would never be able to conjure up the image of  _ Steve’s _ frown as clearly as he could Pepper’s. He hoped they would all be spared that. “No, Tony, don’t say that. It wasn’t all bad.”

“It was bad enough,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if I ever said it to you, honey, but I am. I’m so sorry for the way things happened between us.”

Her breath hitched. “You can’t do that,” she said. “You can’t make me cry. That’s not fair.”

“Would it be fair if I was crying too?” he asked. “‘Cause I am.”

She laughed, and he could see that too. Just as clearly as the frown. She was right. It hadn’t been all bad.

“I hope you are,” she said. “You scoundrel.”

He laughed, and she joined him. They laughed together, and some of the bad was going away. He looked longingly at the doorway. If Steve had been standing in it, he thought it might have been completely better.

But he still wasn’t.

Tony wiped his eyes again. “I hope you’re doing good, Pep,” he said. “I really do. I hope you’re happy.”

“I am,” she said softly. “Are you? I don’t know much about your life now. Are you happy?”

“I’m doing better.”

“Find something that makes you happy, Tony,” she said. “Will you please promise me you’ll do that?”

His eyes went to the doorway again. “I’m trying.”

“Okay. I’ll send your shirt.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

Tony sat still for a moment, thinking about Pepper, about Jarvis, about Steve. Mostly about Steve. Then he shook his head and stood up. He folded the shirt in his hand, and tossed it into one of the drawers, then walked around and gathered up the rest, folding them and putting them away, closing the drawers and cleaning up the mess he’d made. He could still hear the rain outside. He thought of Steve out in it, and the thought just made him sad. And angry at himself for driving him back out into it. It was late. Ten-thirty now. He didn’t want him out there. He wanted him here. Right here in this house. In this room. In this bed. With him.

_ I can’t just let him go _ , he thought.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Steve was too important. Too good to just let him walk out of his life without trying, begging, pleading for him to come home. Without going after him with both barrels. 

He threw the last t-shirt in the drawer and shoved it closed, then grabbed his jacket. He was looking for his keys when the front door opened and closed. And then Steve was there in the doorway. He was wet. Ter. Wetter than he’d been half an hour ago when he got home the first time. Water dripped from the ends of his hair. Hung from his earlobes like jewels. Glittered on his pale skin.

He was beautiful.

“Hey,” Steve said.

“Hey.” 

Steve looked at the jacket in Tony’s hand. A frown flitted over his face. “Were you going out?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. I was coming to find you.”

“Find me? Was I lost?”

“I don't know. I was for a minute.”

Steve smiled a little. “I was coming right back.”

“I didn’t know that. I thought you left.”

“I did.”

“No. I mean, I thought…you left...me.” Tony took a step closer. He ran a hand through his hair. His heart was aching. Pounding in his chest. “I thought you left me,” he repeated. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Steve reached out slowly and brushed his fingers against Tony’s. He didn’t look him in the eye, other than tiny, tentative glances, almost as if he were glancing at the sun to see its brilliance, but afraid it would damage him if he looked too long. “I wouldn’t leave you, Tony,” he whispered.

Tony lunged forward and threw his arms around Steve’s neck. “I’m sorry,” Tony said harshly. “God, I’m sorry, baby. I don’t mean to be such a fucking prick. I don’t mean to take all my shit out on you.” He pushed his face into Steve’s neck. “Please don’t hate me. Don’t-just don’t, okay? Please?”

Steve slipped his arms around Tony’s waist and held him tight. “It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t hate you. Of course I don’t hate you. I’d never hate you.”

“I know it’s been weird the last week-”

“No, it’s okay.

“And then...tonight…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Steve scratched his nails up Tony’s back, making him quiver. “Yeah. Did you find your shirt?”

Tony laughed and squeezed him tighter. “Yeah. Well, almost. It’s at m- _ Pepper’s _ house. She’s sending it.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Um. That’s sort of why I left.”

“Why?”

Steve pulled back a little, and for the first time, Tony saw he was holding something in his hand. It looked like a t-shirt. “Nat bought this for me for Christmas one year when we were kids,” he said. “She had already moved away when my parents died, and I didn’t really have any other friends.” Tony leaned against him again briefly, just giving him his warmth. Steve smiled into his shoulder then moved back. “Anyway,” he said, blushing a bit, “I used to wear it when I was feeling bad. Or sad. Or whatever.” He squeezed the shirt in his big hand. “It kind of made me feel like I wasn’t as alone. Like there was still somebody that cared. Somebody that loved me.”

“Baby,” Tony said, and cupped his cheek.

“It’s okay now,” Steve said. “It doesn’t matter anymore. But this-” he held out the t-shirt, “did make me feel better.” He pressed it into Tony’s hand. “You could wear it. If you wanted. I want you to wear it. I want you to have it.”

Tony took it in his hands. It was old and big and wash-worn, the Yankees logo nearly faded away to nothing. He ran his thumb over it. The fabric was so soft it almost felt like a wisp of cloud.

Steve looked at him apprehensively. “I know it’s not the same as your other one,” he said, then shook his head. “Never mind. It’s okay. You don’t have to.” He tried to pull it away, but Tony held it tight, not letting go. “Really Tony,” Steve said. “It’s stupid. You don’t-”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Tony said.

Steve let go of the shirt.

Tony flipped it over his shoulder, rubbed his cheek against it once, then cocked an eyebrow at Steve. “I’m just warning you. In case that qualifies as something scary.”

Steve shook his head slowly. His eyes were serious, his mouth firm. “That doesn’t scare me.”

They were already standing close to each other, but Tony pressed closer, slid his hand up Steve’s arm, let it linger on his neck, flirting with his Adam’s Apple, then slipped into his hair. He put his mouth against Steve’s ear. “Is it okay, though?” he breathed. “If I kiss you? Is that alright?”

Steve nodded. He was trembling. Tony could feel it against him. “Please,” he said, “Tony. Please?”

Tony brushed his lips along Steve’s jawline, up onto his cheekbone, then to the corner of his mouth. “Sure it’s not scary?” he asked. 

Steve closed his eyes, drew Tony even closer with a touch on his hip. “I’m sure. Are you scared?”

Tony let his lips play over Steve’s lightly, huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re still gonna do it though, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve sighed into his mouth. “Good. I’ve been waiting a long time.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Tony shook his head, his lips chafed softly, deliciously against Steve’s. “Me neither,” he said, and finally-- _ finally _ .

Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated with myself all day about that argument between them, but I decided to keep it mostly because i wanted Steve to start being strong enough to be able to stand up for himself a little, and I wanted Tony to see that Steve will always come home to him, even when there's rough times.   
> Plus, I like arguments that end in the kissing.   
> I'm thinking there's one more chapter left. I think i can squeeze it into one, anyway. Look for it next week. Love you all!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why not make it an even ten chapters? This is nothing but fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to make this it's own separate chapter. It's short, but I had a suck day yesterday and wanted a little sugar to get me through. So, I'll share with you. That's just the kind of gal I am :)  
> Also, I didn't proof this very well, so sorry for any typos. I guess that's the kind of gal I am too.

JULY, SUNDAY 12:00 AM

Breath, warm and sweet on the side of his neck. Lips. Tongue. Kitten licks on his skin. Hands roaming, exploring, fabric bunching, getting in the way in the most lusciously frustrating way imaginable. Fingers finding each other, clasping, knitting together, palm to palm. Sighs. Whispers. Names repeated, passing back and forth, spoken into each other’s mouths.

The room was dim, almost dark, the only light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of the city just enough to highlight the line of a shoulder, the smooth curve of a bicep, the silver tint to dark hair.

Tony shifted closer until they were pressed together, a knee on either side of Steve’s hips. Steve ran a hand up his back and curled his other arm tightly around his waist, dragging him closer still. Tony inhaled sharply, then shuddered the breath out as Steve’s mouth found his throat, tongue trailing down to the juncture of his shoulder and biting down softly.

“Baby,” he breathed, and bit his own lip, eyes fluttering closed.

Steve nuzzled his ear and licked the outer curve. His breath came in ragged, panting gasps. “Yeah,” he said, as if agreeing. And he was. Agreeing with anything Tony was saying, or doing, or feeling, or wanting. Anything. He was in complete agreement.

They were sitting on the couch. Two plates of burgers and fries sat forgotten on the kitchen island. Steve had brought dinner home from the restaurant, then went to take a shower while Tony plated it up. The plan had been to just hurry and eat while they watched an episode of  _ House Hunters _ then go to bed. Steve had to work again in the morning at six, so there wasn’t really time for anything else.

But.

He came out of the bathroom wearing sweats and a white t-shirt. His hair was damp, face flushed from the heat of the shower. He was barefoot. Tony didn’t have a foot fetish--in fact, he’d always been mildly grossed out by feet--but for some reason, the sight of Steve’s clean bare feet as he wandered into the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter made Tony’s pulse quicken.

It was the intimacy of it. The easy, soft vulnerability. He looked completely at ease. Completely at home. Sitting on the counter, bare heels thudding against the lower cabinets, stealing a fry off Tony’s plate while he talked about his night at work. It was irresistible.  _ He _ was irresistible.

Tony moved between his knees and kissed his mouth. It was small, not more than a peck really, but Steve blushd and ducked his head, smiling at Tony from under his long lashes even as his legs locked behind Tony’s, capturing him and pinning him in place.

They had kissed a lot since that first time a few days ago. Small good-morning kisses. Longer, sweeter kisses good-night. Some mid-day, just-because kisses thrown in for good measure. But none had gone further than that. None had gone beyond the soft lips, the slight brush of a hand, the tentative touch of an innocent tongue.

But.

Tony raised an eyebrow as Steve’s hands settled on his hips. “Oh, really?” he said lightly, and Steve shrugged, still smiling. Tony’s hands moved to rest on Steve’s thighs. They were very warm, very firm beneath his palms. He squeezed them experimentally, and Steve drew in a breath and lowered his mouth to Tony’s.

It was soft at first, but unlike the times before, the touch of his tongue was not at all innocent. Steve delved into Tony’s mouth with divine purpose, and Tony was glad Steve’s ankles were locked so securely around him. His knees might have buckled otherwise.

Tony dug his short nails into Steve’s thighs and felt Steve’s fingers tighten on his waist. It wasn’t painful, but his grip was strong, emphatic, and Tony wondered if he would bruise. He hoped he would.

He pulled back and took in a deep breath. “You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Steve Rogers,” he whispered.

Steve dipped his head to nibble at Tony’s ear. “I just know what I want.”

Tony pulled further away so he could look into Steve’s blue eyes. They were dark and serious, filled with intent. “What  _ do _ you want, Steve?”

Steve cupped Tony’s cheek. His thumb skimmed over his lips, tracing the outline of his mouth. “Not...everything,” he said slowly. “Not yet. But more.”

“More,” Tony repeated.

Steve nodded. “More.”

They made it to the couch, and that was far enough. That was perfect. If they had gone to bed, “more” might have  _ become _ “everything”, and Tony wanted Steve to be comfortable. If he wasn’t ready, Tony wasn’t ready either.

But more was good.

More was very good.

Steve sat down and Tony sat beside him, but soon knew that was not going to be enough. Even pressed side to side, hands and arms touching and grasping, there was no way it was going to be enough. So when Steve pulled gently on his arm, urging him up onto his lap, Tony went with an almost audible sob of relief. He straddled Steve’s slim hips, and the friction was unbearably, unbelievably maddening. He rose up higher on his knees and inched closer--as close as he could get and still be a separate entity--and settled back down, and oh god, that was the best/worst decision he had ever made.

Beneath him, Steve’s breath quickened, and he rolled his hips, his arms locking like a vise around Tony’s waist.

“Steve. Baby.”

“Tony.”

Tony could feel him--every inch of him--hard beneath him, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to get on his knees, to take him into his mouth, feel him on his tongue, taste him, feel the weight of Steve’s hand in his hair, hear the sweet sounds of desperation as Tony brought him over the edge.

But.

“Steve,” he said again, and this time Steve pressed his forehead into his shoulder. He kept his arm around Tony’s waist, holding him tight, almost too tight, but it still didn’t feel tight enough. Tony felt untethered, like a drifting dandelion mote on a spring breeze, and while that felt good, that loose, undone sensation, it scared him too. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and that helped. And maybe Steve was feeling the same thing, because he didn’t move. He just clung to Tony’s waist, his head buried in his shoulder, shuddering and panting.

Without letting go of him, Tony’s hand stole to his hair and stroked it. “Steve,” he whispered again, and never in his life had any word tasted sweeter in his mouth. “Steve. Steve. Steve.”

Slowly, very slowly, Steve began to relax. Muscles that had been as tight as piano wires began to uncoil, and that helped Tony’s do the same. They were both still hard--Tony painfully so--but Steve wasn’t ready for everything.  _ Not yet _ , he’d said, and the promise of that helped Tony get himself under control.  _ Not yet _ meant someday. Someday soon, he hoped, and Tony could wait. Especially if Steve kept holding him like this, let his slowing heartbeat help calm Tony’s. Especially if they could come down together--until they could get off together--Tony could do it. With Steve as his anchor, Tony could do it.

After a while, Steve let out a breathless little laugh. “Wow,” he said.

Tony laughed too. He was still petting Steve’s hair, and now he chanced a tiny kiss to his temple. Steve purred like a cat. “Yeah,” he answered. “Wow.”

“That was…”

“Intense. I know.”

“Maybe we should just-”

Tony lifted Steve’s head and kissed his mouth gently. “No. No, you were right. ‘Everything’ can wait for another night.”

Steve frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Tony kissed him again. Once. Twice. Three times. Tender little kisses trying to take that frown away. “Please don’t apologize, baby. If we did anything else tonight, my head would probably explode.”

Steve let out a short, surprised laugh, and squeezed Tony tight again before letting him go. He put his hands on Tony’s thighs and leaned back against the back of the couch. Even in the dim light, Tony could see his soft, pleased smile. How had he lived his entire life before Steve without that smile? He was pretty sure he had asked himself that before. He was pretty sure he would ask himself that again, but that was only because it seemed impossible to him now. 

“I don’t want your head to explode,” Steve said.

Tony laughed and kissed him again. “Me neither.”

Tony trailed delicate, lazy kisses along his cheek, his neck. He couldn't help it. His mouth had a mind of its own. It always had. And Steve didn't seem to mind. His hands skimmed up to Tony's waist again. “Maybe in a few days-” Steve said, then paused while Tony’s mouth met his briefly before moving on to the other side of his neck. “Maybe we could try some other stuff.”

“Other stuff,” Tony repeated, then narrowed his eyes. “You mean sex-stuff, right?”

Steve chuckled and nodded. “Right.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no,” Tony said, “but whenever you’re ready, baby. There’s no rush.” He kissed his shoulder, the lobe of his ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve slid his hands higher up Tony’s thighs. “You know, when you say stuff like that…” He trailed off, his eyes dark with desire, and Tony clamped his own hands down on Steve’s, stopping them before they got  _ too _ high.

He plucked at Steve’s t-shirt. “Sheep’s clothing,” he said, then tapped Steve's nose twice. “ _ Wolf _ .”

Steve stretched up to reach his mouth. He flicked his tongue against Tony’s upper lip. “Does that make you Little Red Riding Hood? All alone in the deep, dark woods?”

“God,” Tony groaned. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Give me a couple days, Tony,” he said seriously, “and you can do whatever you want.”

Tony huffed out a laugh and put his hand over Steve’s mouth. Not that it mattered. His eyes were speaking volumes on their own. Tony closed his own and put his forehead against Steve’s. “You can’t keep talking,” he whispered. “Not like that. Okay? Nod your head if you understand.” Tony felt Steve’s lips curve beneath his palm. The sensation made his cock stir again. “Steve?”

Steve nodded finally.

Tony took his hand away and Steve grasped his wrist and brought it close to his face so he could see his watch. He sighed and leaned back again. The fabric of his shirt pulled taut against his chest. Tony wanted to tear it away and just lay his head on the bare skin. He’d never seen him shirtless before. It was rapidly becoming his one goal in life.

“You’re right anyway,” Steve said, gazing up at him. “It’s late. I should go to bed.”

Tony whined. “You should quit.”

“No.”

Tony looked at his watch. “Huh. So, mean-Steve happens at one-fifteen am. That’s good to know.”

Steve laughed. “And pouty-Tony happens at one-fifteen and twenty-seconds. That’s good to know too.”

“I’m not pouting. I just want to stay in bed all day with you, and have you pet me and tell me I’m pretty. Is that too much to ask?”

Steve laughed again. God, Tony loved that. Loved the way it sounded, so carefree and genuine. He loved the content, untroubled way he laid back against the cushion, his hands resting lightly on Tony’s knees. He loved the way his eyes were so blue even in the darkness, and his skin was printed with shadows, and he smelled like soap and menthol, and his lap was the best seat in the house. He loved everything. He’d known it before, but this was...more. 

And more was good. 

More was very good.

“Are you going to come in to bed with me?” Steve asked. He scratched absently at Tony’s knees. Tony loved that too.  _ More. So much more. _

“Are you going to behave?” Steve smiled a wicked one-sided grin that made Tony’s heart pound again. “Steve-” he began in a warning tone, but Steve shook his head, his eyes shining.

“I’ll be good,” he said. “I promise.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Three times,” he said. “Unless you want ten?”

And that did it. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Steve’s, kissing him hungrily, twining his tongue with Steve’s oh-so-responsive, oh-so-willing one. He lifted the edge of Steve’s shirt and ran his fingers over the hard ridges of his abdominals, delighting in the smooth texture of his skin, loving it, loving everything, loving  _ him _ .

He broke away, and pressed his forehead to Steve’s again. And he loved that too. Loved that he never wanted to stop touching him. Never wanted to be without him. Didn’t want to go one more second without telling him. Tell him here, now, so Steve could hear the words coming out of his mouth, and not just think he knew, not just wake up in the morning thinking he might have heard them in a dream.

“I love you,” Tony said, and smiled a little at the way Steve’s eyes widened minutely. “I know you already know. And I know you probably aren’t quite there yet, but that’s okay. I’m not saying it so I can hear it back. I’m just saying it ‘cause I want  _ you _ to hear it. ‘Cause I want you to know for sure. ‘Cause it’s true.”

Steve looked at him in the dark. His eyes probing Tony’s, seeming to dissect him, scrutinize his thoughts, his feelings. Tony let it happen. He had nothing to hide. He’d laid his soul bare, and if Steve needed to analyze it, he could. Tony wanted him to.

Slowly, Steve sat up straight. When he did, they were face-to-face, chest-to-chest. Steve put his arms around him, looked him in the eye. “Will you say it again?” he asked, and his voice was small, awed, almost worshipful.

Tony ran his hand through his golden hair, the smooth silk against his fingers thrilling him. “I’ll say it every day if you let me, baby.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

Tony pulled him close, held him with one hand in his hair, and the other on his back, clenched in his shirt. “I love you, baby,” he said, and Steve sighed softly, as if in relief. “I love you so much. So so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! One more (for real this time) chapter to go!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some sweet, fluffy stuff...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to do one more short sappy chapter before the finish. I'm having a mood lately, and I might be a couple hours late, but it WAS Steve Rogers' birthday on the 4th, so I feel like I'm justified.

AUGUST, THURSDAY 2:00 AM

He was cold.

He shouldn’t have been cold. Sure, the air conditioning was on, but that was the beautiful thing about bedtime now. The room itself was chilly, but under the light covers, with Steve pressed up against him…

Wait.

He cracked one eye, and looked at the clock just in time to see it flicker from 2:00 to 2:01. He groped a hand behind himself, knowing he wasn’t going to encounter anything but air, and he was right.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, and sat up. He rubbed his bleary eyes. The bathroom was dark, the door standing open. “Steve?” he called, but there was no answer.

Tony stood up and followed the short hallway down to the living room. They’d been using the space a little since Steve came to stay. Not just to make out--although that was still its primary function--but Steve liked to sit in the chair by the window and look out at the city. He seemed fascinated by it. The lights, the cars, the people so small on the pavement below. Tony didn’t pay it much attention, but sometimes he would sit on the arm of Steve’s chair with him and look out too. Steve’s arm would circle his waist, or his hand would travel up the middle of his back and scratch short nails between his shoulder blades. Tony felt a little weak when he did that, and he had to remind himself that he was not some swooning nineteenth-century damsel being swept off her feet. Even if he felt like one every time Steve touched him.

And he was kind of okay with that.

Steve was sitting there now. In his chair, overlooking the city. He still had his jacket on--a beat-up old denim thing that was faded almost white--still had his shoes on. He didn’t turn around when Tony came over, just kept staring down at the lights.

“You’re up late,” Tony said, and Steve finally glanced up. He smiled a little. He looked tired.

“Yeah. I took a walk after work.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just didn’t think I’d be able to sleep.”

Tony touched his cheek. “Not tired? You  _ look _ tired.”

“I am,” he sighed, “just not sleepy.”

He rested his head against Tony’s hip, and Tony ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s only ‘til December,” Steve said. “By December, I should have enough to get started in school, and then I can ask for a different shift.”

“I know I keep teasing you about quitting your jobs,” Tony said softy, “but...you really could, you know. I could-”

“No,” Steve said. It wasn’t sharp, but it  _ was _ firm. Tony paused, his hand just sitting in his hair now. Steve sighed again. “I know what you’re saying,” he began, speaking with great care, as if using the words as stepping-stones across a tumultuous river, “and I appreciate it. Please don’t think I don’t, but I want to do this by myself. It’s important to me.” He lifted his head and looked up at Tony with big, troubled eyes. “You get that, right? Please tell me you get that.”

A brief image of Howard, drunk and raging, surfaced in his mind. Telling him he was worthless. Telling him he’d never make a goddamn thing out of himself. Tony pushed it down, shoving it away into the tiny box where he kept all his bad memories of his father. He couldn’t seem to get rid of them, but the box had gotten smaller over the years. It didn’t take up nearly as much real estate in his mind now that it once had.

He bent down and kissed Steve’s mouth. “Of course, I get that,” he said. “God, baby, of course, I do.”

Steve smiled up at him, relief making his eyes shine. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He kissed him again. “I’ll probably still whine and pout a little when we have to get up early though. Fair warning.”

Steve laughed. “Good. I kinda like that part.”

“You just remember you said that, mister.”

“Yeah,” he said, and put his head back against Tony’s hip. “I’ll remember.”

Tony pet his hair again, and Steve hummed in contentment. “Still not sleepy?” Tony asked.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really.”

Tony took his hand. “Come on. Come to bed. Let’s see if I can help.”

Steve got to his feet. He looked down at Tony, his eyes dark. “What are you gonna do?”

“Just help you sleep.”

Steve put his hand on Tony’s hip, bent his head toward his ear. “How?”

Tony shivered as Steve’s breath caressed his neck. “Let’s go see,” he said.

Steve went easily, willingly, keeping one short step behind Tony. It wasn’t the first time he’d been led by the hand into the bedroom. He didn’t think it would be the last. And how lucky was that? How lucky that he had Tony now. That he had him to be with. To lie down with. Even if they never did anything but cuddle on that big, soft bed, he was still lucky, and he knew it.

But he  _ was _ starting to wonder…

Tony stopped them in front of the bed. He unbuttoned Steve’s jacket, slipped it off his shoulders, and sat it aside. Steve stood still while he did it, just basking in the feeling of being taken care of. No one had ever done things like that for him before. Thad had certainly never done it. When he took Steve’s clothes off, it was with a single-minded purpose. Just get him down to a hole he could fuck into. Steve could see it now. With a few week’s distance, he could see it, and he wondered why he hadn’t seen it before. He wasn’t stupid. He might be a little naive, but he  _ wasn’t _ stupid. How had he not seen? How had he not known?

Tony looked up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes as Tony’s mouth flitted over his neck “I should go shower though,” he said. “I probably don’t smell very good.”

Tony laughed against his throat. “Honestly, you  _ have _ smelled better,” he said, and Steve laughed with him, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and holding him tight. “And it’ll probably help. Go ahead.”

Steve took his hands and pulled on them. “Come with me,” he said.

Tony sighed and put his forehead against Steve’s firm chest. “Not tonight.”

“When?”

“Soon, okay?” Tony said. “But not tonight.”

Steve looked at him, desire, exhaustion, and mild frustration warring in his heart and on his face. “You  _ do _ want me, don’t you, Tony?” he asked, voicing his biggest concern. “I’m not just making an idiot out of myself, am I?”

Tony laughed again, softly, incredulously. “Oh Steve. I want you so much. I want you more than anything. More than I want to keep breathing-”

“Then come with me.”

Tony kissed Steve’s neck, sunk his teeth lightly into the skin of his jaw. “It’s late,” he murmured. “And I have to get up for work in a few hours.”

“Quit.”

Tony laughed. “If anything could ever get me to, it would be that,” he said. “It would be  _ you _ .” Steve ducked his head, and Tony cupped the back of his neck. “I just want to take my time with you,” he said into Steve’s ear. “Don't think I don't want you just because I want to wait a little longer. There are so many things I want to do to you, baby. Do _ with _ you. There are so many ways I want to ruin you-”

“Okay,” Steve said breathlessly, and took a step back. “Okay. Not tonight. But soon, right, Tony?”

Tony let out a ragged sigh, nodding. “Really soon. I promise.”

Steve nodded. He took another step backward toward the bathroom. His cheeks were painted pink, his mouth red and inviting. Tony balled his hands into fists, wishing for one brilliant, devastating moment that he  _ could  _ just say fuck it, and tear Steve apart right then and there. Tony wanted him. Steve wanted Tony too. The air between them contained an electric charge that seemed almost dangerous. And he  _ could _ .  _ They  _ could. They could do anything. Steve was ready now. He’d told him and shown him he was, but suddenly, Tony wasn’t sure if  _ he  _ was. He’d been with a lot of people over the years, had a lot of first times, but he wanted this first time to be different.

He wanted this time to be his last first time ever.

“Go on,” he said, and now  _ he  _ was breathless. “Go on and shower. Take your time, but make it a hot one, okay?”

Steve stopped in the doorway, blinked coyly. “It’d be hotter if you were with me.”

_ “Go.” _

Steve went, and Tony let out a deep breath and sat down on the bed. 2:30 am, now. 2:30. He’d been soundly asleep forty minutes ago. He wasn’t sleepy anymore. But maybe Steve could help him with that while he helped Steve. They could help each other.

He rubbed his cheek against his own shoulder. He was wearing Steve’s shirt. He wore it alot. To bed, mostly, especially on Steve’s late nights, when he was in the house alone. Funny how he had lived alone for so long, and now it felt strange to be alone at night. Strange and wrong. Now it didn’t feel right unless Steve was here with him. And he wondered how much more intense that feeling would be when they did finally do  _ everything _ . The thought was exciting and frightening in equal measure.

He leaned over and snapped the lamp off as the water stopped in the shower. A minute later, the door opened and Steve came out. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt. Tony stood up and drew him closer to the bed by his hand. He grabbed the hem of Steve’s shirt and tugged. “Take this off.”

“Help me?”

Tony sighed. “There’s that wolf again.”

Steve smiled and waited until Tony stepped into him and skimmed his hands up Steve’s sides, gathering the fabric as they went, exposing miles and miles of smooth, fair, creamy skin. 

When it was off, Tony shook his head. “Damn,” he whispered.

“Will you take yours off too?"

“Steve-”

“Please?” Steve asked, looking at him from under his lashes. “I won't touch you if you don't want me to. I just want to see you.”

Tony let out a breath. “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t you, baby?” he said, and Steve shrugged. He blushed, though. Even in the dim room, Tony could see it. And he loved it. 

And it was true. They both knew it.

“You do it,” Tony said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re the wolf here.”

Steve stepped closer. “I’ll be a good wolf,” he whispered. “I won’t touch.” 

Tony stood silently and let Steve take over, let him lift the shirt up over his head, loving the way he was so careful to keep his fingers from touching Tony's bare skin, just like he had promised. When it was off, he tossed it away like it meant nothing, and just looked for a moment. “God, you’re beautiful, Tony,” he murmured worshipfully.

“Not like you.”

“No, not like me,” Steve agreed. “Better.”

“Beg to differ.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Tony laughed low in his throat. “Lie down, smartass,” he said. “On your stomach.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow, but did what Tony wanted, lying down on his stomach, his head pillowed on his forearms. Tony moved beside him and smoothed his thumb along Steve’s eyebrow. “Close your eyes,” he said, and they dropped obediently closed. “Good,” he praised, smiling at the way Steve shivered next to him when he did. “So good,” he went on shamelessly. “You’re so good.”

“How come  _ you _ don’t have to be good?”

“Shh. Don’t talk. You’re supposed to be going to sleep, remember?”

“Right.”

“Right. So, shh.” Tony said this last into his ear, bending over and finally allowing himself to touch the bare expanse of his back. It was for Steve, he told himself. It was all for Steve. He was being good too. He wasn’t being a hypocrite at all.

Tony let his hand travel from the dip at the base of his spine up to the base of his neck in a smooth, unbroken line, while Steve’s breath stuttered out between his lips. He did it again, rubbing his back in long, languid strokes, feeling Steve relax slowly into the mattress. Tony shifted, lying down next to him, and kissed his shoulder blade, his hand moving in patterns now, never the same one twice in a row, but soothing, soft on his skin.

“Feels nice,” Steve mumbled, and Tony kissed his shoulder again.

“I’m glad.”

“I thought about you again.”

“When?”

“A minute ago. In the shower.”

Tony paused, his heart thumping, then resumed the gentle movement of his hand. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you think about?”

“You. Touching me.”

_ I am so fucked. _

Steve turned his head to look at Tony, gazing up at him in the dim room, the lights from the city shining on his skin, turning it into gold.

_ So fucked. _

Tony huffed out a dark laugh and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Tony,” Steve said, giving him a smile. “I can wait. You waited for me, I can wait for you. For as long as you want.”

Tony leaned forward and Steve lifted his face to be kissed. “Soon,” Tony said. “We’ll know. When the time is right, baby, we’ll both know.”

“ _ We _ ,” Steve repeated in a low, happy tone. “I like being a  _ we _ with you.”

Tony kissed him again, then lay his head on Steve’s back, his hand still moving across his skin. “So do I.”

Steve’s breathing deepened and slowed. Tony kept rubbing his back, dancing his fingers across the smooth, firm muscles, pressing his lips against him every now and again.

Steve drew in a deep breath and hummed it out. “Tony?” he said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Tony blinked back sudden tears. It had been a long time since someone had said that to him. A long time. And hearing Steve say it was the best thing he had ever heard in his life.

He pressed his forehead against Steve’s back. Kissed him once again. “I love you too, Steve,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really going to end it on the next chapter. I know I've said that before, but I'm serious this time! I know I've said THAT before too, but...


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little chat with Nat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been in kind of a funk. It always happens this time of year. Feeling a little better, so here's a short chapter. I'm going to really try and get this done this week...she said hopefully.

AUGUST , SATURDAY 7:00 PM

“Are you going to break his heart?”

Tony had known this was coming. From the looks Natasha had been giving him all night, he knew this was where it would end up.

They had come over around six, and Natasha and Sam met them at the door. Sam shook Tony’s hand while Nat threw her arms around Steve’s neck. He lifted her up off her toes, making her laugh, and held her tightly against his chest. She covered his face in kisses until he blushed and sat her back down. He turned to Sam and hugged him too, then kissed Nick. Nat clasped Tony’s hand, her eyes already sizing him up. Tony let it happen. He understood. He knew what tonight was about.

Steve and Nat stayed in the living room while Tony and Sam went out to the balcony to grill burgers. Tony could hear them through the open window laughing and chatting, could see Steve bouncing Nick on his knee, holding his pudgy little hands while the baby giggled, and when Nat called, “How’s it coming out there, boys?” he called back, “You can’t rush perfection!” without missing a beat.

Sam gave him an approving nod and raised his bottle of beer. Tony tapped his own against it. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

They ate at the tiny dining table with the westering sun streaming through the window. Al Green was on the record player. A fan turned lazily in the corner.

Tony held Nick all through dinner. The baby had reached for him immediately when he came back inside, a plate of burgers in his hand, and Steve handed him off to him. Tony was flattered that Nick remembered him and was so content to sit peacefully on his lap, gumming a french fry while they all ate and talked, but he was also acutely aware of Natasha watching him out of the corner of her eye. He knew he was being assessed. Judged, even. It made him nervous but he bore up under her scrutiny as well as he could. She was Steve’s only real family, after all, and he wanted--needed--her to approve of him. 

He felt Steve watching him too, but when he looked at him, Steve smiled and gave him a hopeful, encouraging look that made Tony melt just a little more every time it happened. If it wasn’t for Nat’s chilly gaze, in fact, Tony thought he would be nothing but a puddle on the floor before dinner was done.

But now. Now.

Natasha asked Steve and Sam to go pick up some ice cream from the market a few blocks down, and as soon as she did, it confirmed all of Tony’s suspicions. 

It seemed like Steve must have suspected something too. He shot Tony an apprehensive look. “Wanna come?” he asked in a voice that was deceptively light.

Tony shook his head. If there was going to be a confrontation, he thought, they might as well get it out of the way. “Nah. I’ll stay and help Natasha clean up.”

“Sounds great,” Nat said brightly, and patted him on the shoulder as she passed.

Steve waited until she crossed the room and then leaned close. His brow was furrowed in a deep frown. “Are you sure?” he whispered. 

Tony smoothed his finger along the creases between Steve's eyebrows. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “She can’t kill me, right?”

Steve laughed softly and touched Nick’s head, making the baby smile sleepily up at him. “Well. Not in front of this little guy, anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

Steve pressed his lips against Tony’s. “Are you  _ sure _ ?”

Tony huffed quiet laughter and kissed Steve again. “ _ Stop. Worrying.  _ Go on. Go get ice cream. No pistachio.”

Steve nodded, the worry lines diminishing but not disappearing completely, even when Tony kissed his mouth a third time. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll be right back.” He leaned closer still, put his mouth against Tony’s ear. “I love you.”

Tony couldn’t stop the smile that surfaced on his lips. “Me too,” he said. “Now, go on. Get out of here.”

“‘Kay.” 

Steve dropped a kiss onto the top of Nick’s head, then let Natasha usher him toward the door with Sam, nodding as she gave them instructions, and a list, and she and Tony plenty of time to hash things out between them.

Tony curled Nick against his chest, rubbing his back while the baby rested his head on his shoulder. He heard Sam say, “Play nice,” before he kissed Nat’s lips. He shot Tony a sympathetic look, then followed Steve out the door.

Natasha closed the door gently behind them with tented fingers, then turned and leaned against it. Her arms were folded across her middle, her eyes dark, unreadable. Tony gazed back.

“Are you going to break his heart?”

Tony let out a soft breath. He held the baby to him, feeling the light, bird-like beating of his tiny heart against him, taking some solace in it. “I hope not,” he said quietly.

“You hope not,” she mused, pushing herself off the door. She moved closer. The cold, appraising look in her eye was back, but now it was multiplied ten-fold. Looking at her, Tony felt a bit like a fly caught in a black-widow’s web. “Why ‘you hope not’?” she asked. “Why not ‘no’?”

Tony dipped his face into Nick’s sweet-smelling hair for a moment, then met her eyes again. “‘Cause I can’t see the future,” he said sadly. “And my track record…”

“Speaks for itself.”

“Yeah.”

Nat sat on the arm of the couch. She was still looking fixedly at him, but if he wasn’t mistaken, her eyes had softened a bit. Her mouth eased. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t scowling at him either. Tony hoped that was a good sign.

“I’ve been checking you out, you know,” she said. Her foot bobbed a little, toes dangling just above the floor. She wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks. She hadn’t all night long. She and Steve had that in common. He went barefoot all the time at home, too.

Tony nodded. “I assumed so.”

He sat back down on the chair he’d sat in to eat dinner. Nick was asleep now, but Tony made no move to put him down, and Nat didn’t offer to take him. They just looked at each other across the cozy little room. Sam had turned the record player off, but the street noise still came through the open window. Light traffic, a siren in the distance, a mother yelling for Kylie to get out of the street  _ right now _ !

Tony remembered coming here before, the night he and Steve had sat with Nick. He remembered how he’d been struck by the feeling of home. He still felt it. He felt it intensely.  _ More  _ now, even, than he had then, and he liked that feeling.  _ Loved  _ that feeling. Wanted to keep feeling it here. Wanted to feel welcome and at-home wherever Steve felt welcome and at-home. So, he’d do this with her. He’d do it, and he would try to speak as plainly and as truthfully as he could, for his own sake as well as Steve’s, because he liked Natasha. And he liked Sam. And he was in love with the baby. And he loved the feeling of all that. He loved being a part of it. And it was selfish, but he wanted it to go on. He wanted to feel like part of a family. Part of  _ Steve’s _ family.

“Guess you aren’t too thrilled with what you see, huh?” he asked.

She moved her head side to side, considering. “I don’t know,” she said. “You’re a difficult read.”

Tony snorted laughter. “That’s not what Steve says. He says he can tell exactly what I’m thinking. And the bitch of it is, he’s right most of the time.”

“Most of the time,” she said softly.

“Yeah.”

“But not always.”

Tony frowned a little, then drew in a breath. “Did you check Thad Ross out too?” he asked.

“Of course,” she answered, then fell into a moody silence. She chewed her lip. It was the first time Tony had seen her look less than perfectly, one hundred percent in control. It made him like her even more. “That’s part of the reason Steve didn’t want to talk to me about him,” she said finally. “He didn’t want to hear that he was being manipulated. Or lied to.”

Tony nodded, his heart going out to Steve. And to her. Sam had told him the Thad-situation had bothered her. The fact that Steve wouldn’t talk to her about him bothered her. And Tony could see it still did. Even though it was over, it still bothered her. It still hurt her. He gave her a tiny smile. “No one likes to be lied to,” he said.

“No. They don’t.” She rubbed her lips with absent fingers, her eyes far away. “And he’d never been in love before,” she said. “He liked it. He liked feeling that. And he  _ should _ like feeling it. Everybody should get to feel that. But Thad.” She paused, shook her head, then met Tony’s eye. “Well, you know.”

He nodded again. “Yeah. I know.”

“I’m not religious,” she said. “At all. But when he texted me to tell me he’d left Thad and was at your house that morning, I got right down on my knees and thanked god. I thanked god for  _ you _ .” Tony blinked, shocked by her candor. She nodded as if he had spoken. “Because I knew it was at least partly because of you that he left.”

He stammered a little, feeling completely undone by what she’d said. “I don’t even know what to say right now.”

A ghost of a smile passed over her face, and she abandoned the couch to come sit next to him at the table. Nick was soundly asleep against Tony’s shoulder, and she reached out to gently touch his little foot. “It may not be fair to you, but you have to understand that I’m very protective of him. Especially now.” 

Tony nodded. 

“I try not to judge a book by its cover,” she said. “But sometimes I judge them by their reviews, and not all of yours are great.” She looked at him, and while her eyes were serious, her mouth was still soft. “I don’t think you would hurt him on purpose. No one I’ve spoken to said you were like that, and just from watching you with him tonight-” she touched Nick again, “-and seeing you with my son, I can see that you’re not like that. By all accounts, you’re not...malicious. Maybe just a little careless.”

Tony nodded slowly. He wondered briefly who she had talked to. If she and Pepper had been in touch. It seemed like something Pepper would say, and she would be right. He had been careless with her heart. With so many others too.

“I know,” he said. “I know that. I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. I’m not going to deny it, Natasha. Whoever you talked to, my ex-wife or whoever, they were right.” He leaned forward, cradling the baby’s small head unconsciously, and looked earnestly into her eyes. “But this? This thing I’ve got with Steve? It’s different.  _ He’s _ different. And when I’m with him, I'm different, too.”

She gazed steadily back. “I really, really want to believe you.”

“I want you to, too,” he said. “‘Cause he loves you. And your opinion is important to him. And that makes it important to me.”

“I’m not going to threaten you,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to tell you I’ll kill you if you hurt him or anything like that. I’m just going to ask you to please not be careless with him.” Natasha reached out and grasped his hand. She held it tightly. So tightly. “Please. You saw what he went through with that piece of shit, Ross. You helped him through that when he wouldn’t let me anywhere near it, and I’m so grateful to you for that, but please don’t be careless with his heart, Tony.” Her grip grew impossibly tighter. “Even if you do end up breaking it, it would still be okay, as long as you aren’t careless with it.”

Tony looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “I  _ can _ promise you that, Natasha. I’ll never be careless with it. I’ll never be careless with  _ him _ . He’s...special.”

She nodded. “Yes. He is. I’m glad you can see that. Not many people have taken the time to see that. Not even his own parents.”

“What were they like?” he asked. 

“They were... _ hard _ people,” she said. “Hard to get to know, and hard to like.” Her hand stole out again to touch the baby, caressing his back. “And they were hardest on Steve.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe just because he was so different from them. And they just couldn’t understand it.”

“Because he’s sweet.”

“Yes,” she agreed immediately, her eyes gleaming. “Because he’s sweet. He’s always been sweet.”

“He’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met,” Tony said. “The gentlest.”

“He’s not weak though,” she answered thoughtfully. “Don’t ever think that.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Good. Because he’s strong.” She glanced at her watch, then at the door, her teeth closing on her full lower lip again, obviously gauging the time they had left alone. “He almost killed my first boyfriend,” she said, turning her eyes back to Tony. “Did he ever tell you that?”

Tony’s mouth dropped open. “I’m sorry, what?”

Natasha smiled a tiny, cat-like smile of satisfaction. “That’s right,” she said. “And he wasn’t always as big as he is now. He was kind of a scrawny kid.” She arched an eyebrow. “But he’s always been strong. Tough, you know? Like a hero.” She glanced at her hands. “ _ My _ hero."

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “Brock wouldn’t take no for an answer. When Steve found out--when he finally pestered me into telling him what was wrong…” she trailed off, her eyes filled with stars, remembering, that cat-like smile still curving her lips. “Brock  _ was _ a big guy,” she said. “But it took three people to pull Steve off of him. He shattered his jaw. Broke his arm. Two ribs.” 

Tony stared at her in shock. He tried to picture Steve angry, filled with enough hatred to beat a man to a bloody ruin, and just couldn’t do it.

“They called his parents down to the school to pick him up.” She shook her head. “It was the one time his father seemed proud of him.”

“My god,” Tony whispered.

“Yeah,” Nat agreed. “But it didn’t change him. He stayed sweet. And his dad went back to thinking he was worthless. And his mother-” she rolled her eyes, “-she never thought anything different anyway.”

“I don’t get that,” Tony said, shaking his head.

Natasha smiled and leaned back in her chair. “I don’t get it either. I don’t really  _ want _ to get it. I don’t want to get that far into the snake-pit, you know?”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, thinking of his own parents. “I know. Sometimes we’re better off not getting it.”

“Exactly. And we’ve got  _ him _ . That’s the important thing.”

Tony shook his head a little, smiling. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but all of a sudden, he loved Steve even more than he had before. It was a dizzying feeling. “How’d we get so fucking lucky, huh?”

She laughed. “I don’t know. And I’ll let that one go since Nick’s asleep.”

Tony replayed what he’d said, then closed his eyes. “Oh. Shit. Sorry.”

“That one too.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m just gonna stop talking now.”

Natasha laughed again, a musical sound that made him feel warm and loved. Especially when she stood up and nodded down the hallway. Tony followed her, and they put the baby down together. When they came back into the living room, Steve and Sam were home.

Steve shot him a nervous, questioning look, and Nat threaded her arm through his. “Sorry,” she said, gazing up at Steve with big, innocent eyes. “He’s not talking. He’s in a time-out.”

“Uh-oh,” Steve said, still looking at Tony apprehensively. “What did he do?”

Tony glanced at Nat, and she nodded. He put a contrite look on his face. “I may have said a naughty word.”

“Or two,” Nat supplied. “So no kisses for the rest of the night.”

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad!” Tony said.

Steve grinned, catching the wink Natasha sent Tony’s way.

“What’d I tell you about keeping it clean in my house, Stark?” Sam said. “Fucking hell.”

Nat pointed at him and narrowed her eyes. “No kisses for you either.”

Steve laughed.

They all did.

AUGUST, SATURDAY 10:00 PM

They walked home slowly after leaving Nat and Sam’s. It was a hot night, sultry with moisture coming in off the Atlantic, and Tony was glad he hadn’t worn anything over his t-shirt. That’s all Steve had on too, just a plain blue t-shirt that clung to him in all the right ways, earning him appreciative looks from the few other people still idling around on the street.

Tony wasn’t sure if Steve even noticed the looks. Or if he did, if he attached them to himself. Especially after the things Natasha had told him. Tony wasn’t sure Steve realized exactly how beautiful he really was. And it wasn’t just that face or that body. It was just  _ him _ . Just something in him. Something he gave off. Like his own inner light that shone out, highlighting and accentuating his physical looks, making them even better than they were on their own. 

Again, Tony wondered just what the fuck had been wrong with Steve’s parents. How they could see that and experience it every single day and still think there was something wrong with him. It was insanity. Pure insanity.

Tony reached out and took his hand. Steve started a bit, then smiled at him shyly, folding their fingers together.

Pure insanity.

Tony pulled him closer, kissed his shoulder, and kept walking, kept leading him toward home, kept soaking in that sweet, perfect light that Steve radiated.

When they reached their building, Steve held the door for Tony. They both said goodnight to the doorman, then they got into the elevator. It was a long way up. They had the penthouse, and no one else was in the elevator with them. 

Tony pushed the button for their floor, then stood near the wall, his eyes on Steve. He looked steadily back for a moment, then crossed the elevator in two large steps, wrapped his arms suddenly and heavily around Tony’s neck, and buried his face against him.

Tony staggered under the sudden weight and laughed. “Whoa. Hey, what’s this for?” He lifted his hands and clasped them around Steve’s waist.

Steve shook his head against Tony’s neck, not letting him go, not even loosening his grip. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “Just...just thank you. For tonight. It was-” he shook his head again, and Tony held him tighter. “It was nice. Wasn’t it?” He pulled back a little so he could search Tony’s face. His own was filled with an uneasy mix of dreadful worry and hope. “You had fun, didn’t you, Tony? Hanging out with my friends? With  _ our _ friends? It was nice, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed immediately. “Are you kidding? I had a great time.”

“Even when Nat put you in time-out?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Even then.”

Steve heaved a sigh, his face breaking into a sunny grin that lit Tony up completely, and he couldn’t help gilding the lily. “In fact, Nat and I were talking about us all going out to dinner next week.”

“Really?” Steve asked, and Tony nodded, making a mental note to text Natasha first thing in the morning. He was pretty sure she’d back up his little white lie, especially if she could see the smile on Steve’s face right now.

He put his arms back around Steve’s waist and stretched up to kiss his mouth. “What do you think?” he asked. “Sound like fun?”

Instead of answering, Steve kissed him, the force of it pushing Tony back against the wall. His mouth was firm, insistent, tasting of red wine and chocolate ice cream. His hands moved over Tony’s body, up under his shirt to pull him closer, digging into his waist, his hip, slipping down to cup his ass through his jeans.

“Steve,” Tony said.

“Tony.”

“I’ve been thinking about that wolf tonight,” Tony said, grazing his teeth along Steve’s throat.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. Yeah.”

Steve pressed against him, grinding his hips into Tony's. “What were you thinking?”

Tony skimmed his fingers down the length of Steve’s torso. Steve’s eyes fell shut as Tony’s finger traced the bulge in his jeans. “I was thinking that maybe he’d like to come out and play.”

Steve looked at him darkly. “Really? Really, Tony?”

“If you’re feeling it,” Tony murmured, lips on his throat, fingers teasing his cock. “Are you feeling it, baby?”

Steve nodded, his breath coming hard and fast. “I’m feeling it.”

Tony took his hand and tugged him toward the door. “Come on then. Let’s see if i can make the big bad wolf howl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Love to you all!! <3<3<3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making the wolf howl ;) ...and other stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as much as I'd love to write some good, old-fashioned, no-holds-barred smut, it's just not my wheel-house. There's more smoke and mirrors here (or maybe I'm just a tease!) but in either case, just use your imagination for the stuff that's not on the page. I'm sure it'll be awesome!

AUGUST, SATURDAY 11:50 PM

Had anyone in the history of God’s green earth ever felt as cherished as he did right this very moment?

Steve didn’t think it was possible.

From the elevator, Tony led him to their door. Neither could help it, and every few steps, they stopped and pressed against each other, hands grasping, mouths exploring, tasting, teeth nipping for a moment before they began to move again toward home. 

At the door, Tony fumbled for his keys. Steve slid his arms around his waist from behind and ran his tongue along the cords of his neck. His fingers dipped down past his belt, inside the waistband of his jeans, following the v-cut line of his pelvis. Tony stopped fumbling and fell back bonelessly against Steve’s chest. He rolled his head to the side, allowing Steve’s talented mouth fuller access to his neck. “Oh god,” he whispered, and Steve’s lips curved against his skin.

“Open the door, Tony,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Tony shook his head, his eyes closed, and pushed back against Steve’s chest, against the hardness of his cock. “No,” he breathed, “I really can’t.”

“Okay.”

Dimly, Tony was aware of Steve’s large hand closing over his and taking the keys. Then Steve leaned forward to seat the key in the lock. He splayed his other hand flat against Tony’s stomach, holding him in place, not allowing him to move even a hair’s breadth away. 

Tony moaned in the back of his throat and turned his head. Steve’s mouth was there, and he met it with his own, licked into it with his eager tongue, and Steve matched his intensity, holding him with one hand, the other coming up to cup Tony’s neck, his cheek, while their mouths moved in a thrilling, private, primal dance. Tony put his own hand over the one Steve had on his stomach and clenched it into his fist. Steve’s fingers twined automatically with his, and drug him even closer, using both of their hands to do it. Tony hitched in a breath as he was pressed even closer to that tantalizing, promising hardness. He ground against it, and Steve let out a breath. For a moment, it was as if they were one, Tony taking in oxygen, Steve releasing it, both using the other, both existing within and because of the other.

The door swung open, the keys hanging forgotten in the lock. “Steve,” Tony murmured and turned in his arms, and wrapped his own around Steve’s neck.

Steve kissed him again and held him fast to his chest. “Tony.” He took a step forward, and Tony moved with him, backing slowly inside the apartment, never relinquishing his grip nor command of Steve’s sweet mouth.

Tony let Steve guide them through the door and swung it closed. As soon as it was, Tony pushed him gently but firmly against it. He kissed his neck, sucking on the flutter of his quickened pulse, and Steve’s head fell back against the door.

“Did you get the keys?” Tony asked.

Steve shook his head. “I-I don’t know.”

“Dangerous,” Tony said, and laughed darkly into his neck. “Anybody could walk in here.”

“Guess so.”

“Do you even care?”

“Not right now.”

“Me neither.”

Tony pressed himself fully against Steve and kissed him again, touching his cheek and urging him down to meet his mouth. “Baby,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Steve tipped his head into Tony’s neck, his mouth playing along his skin. “Me too.”

“Wanted  _ you _ for so long.”

“I want you too, Tony.”

“You taste good.”

“So do you.”

Tony kissed him softly, his fingers moving to the button of Steve’s jeans. “Let’s see if all of you tastes as good,” he said, and began to sink to his knees.

Steve stopped him. Put his hands on his elbows, and stopped him. 

Tony looked at him, his eyes dark and questioning. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Steve cut his eyes away. His mouth turned down in a frown, his brow furrowed. “Tony,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to. It’s okay.”

Tony bit his lip as insane laughter bubbled up inside him.  _ Not have to?  _ He’d been dreaming of it for months. He swallowed the laughter back quickly, nearly choking on it. He shuddered against Steve’s chest, and wrapped his arms around him. “Steve? Baby, what do you mean?”

Steve lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. He still didn’t look at Tony. Kept his eyes on the floor. “I mean, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s not...necessary. Just let me. Okay? Just let me-” 

“Hey,” Tony said, and cupped Steve’s cheek. “Hey, baby, look at me.”

“No. No, really. I-” he shook his head.

“Steve? Honey? If you’re not ready-”

“I  _ am _ ,” he insisted. “I  _ am _ ready, Tony. It’s not that.”

Tony nodded. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and buried his head in his shoulder. “No,” he said. “No, please don’t say that. Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t _ be _ sorry. Please?”

Tony held him tightly. “I’m not. I’m not sorry, at all. I love you, baby. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

“If you don’t want me to-”

Steve uttered a short, sharp laugh. He squeezed Tony tight. “I never said I didn’t want you to,” he said, and pulled back a little. He gave Tony a shy smile, looking in his eyes again, at last. Tony melted. He always did. “It’s just...nobody  _ else  _ ever wanted to before.” He shrugged again. “They wanted  _ me _ to. But, you know,  _ they _ never really did.”

Tony traced his finger along Steve’s fine lips. “Baby,” he said, earnestly. “ _ I _ want to. I’ve wanted to for a long time. A  _ very  _ long time.”

Steve looked at him from under his long lashes. “Really?”

“Really.”

Steve pulled Tony into his arms, but this time it was soft, sweet, gentle. He held him and lay his head on his shoulder, just taking in Tony’s warmth. “I love you,” he whispered.

Tony ran his hand through Steve’s hair. He was shocked and almost offended by the things Steve had said. How could anyone  _ not _ want to give Steve everything? Every single, tiny thing he needed or wanted? And further, how could anyone ever deny  _ themselves _ the pleasure of giving everything to this beautiful, sensual, perfect person here in his arms? It baffled him. “I love you too, honey,” he answered. “More than anything. More than I can even say.”

Steve sighed. “Me too.”

“Can I show you?” Tony said, looking up at him. “Will you let me show you how much?”

Steve took Tony’s hand. Squeezed it tight, tight, tight. He nodded.

“Should we go into the bedroom?” 

That tiny, soft smile. That nod again.

Tony smiled back. “Come on.”

Once again, Steve let Tony lead him into the bedroom. He let Tony undress him, let him lay him down on the bed, let him glorify and delight in every inch of his body, while Steve writhed and moaned beneath him, eyelids fluttering, hands fisting in the snowy-white sheets, crying Tony’s name over and over as he finally came, his climax a shuddering, heaving revelation. And when it was over, when he came back to himself, he slipped down the length of Tony’s body, lips caressing, tongue laving his skin, and took him into his mouth. Tony’s fingers sunk into his hair, murmuring praise and words of love while Steve brought him first to the brink, then sent him over the edge where he floated in the sweet nirvana that was Steve’s arms.

Neither had ever experienced anything so wondrous. Neither had ever felt so at ease, so loved, so desired, so at home. They drifted for a while, lazy lips brushing together, gentle fingers moving in soft, grazing touches until Steve slipped away into a deep, heavy, contented sleep.

Tony watched him for a bit, a smile curving his lips, then he got up, showered, and went back to bed, curling himself around Steve’s slumbering body.

He was almost asleep when he remembered. 

He got back up, went into the living room, opened the door, and snagged his keys.

AUGUST, MONDAY 12:30 PM

Nine days.

Nine days since the day that Tony was fast coming to regard as the first day of his real, actual life. Nine perfect, lovely, sweet, romantic days spent drowning in the sea of Steve’s blue eyes. Spent luxuriating in his embrace. Spent sinking into him, both literally and metaphorically, making him moan, making him beg, making him scream. 

Making the wolf howl.

Nine days.

So what, if maybe the last two had been a little different. So what, if maybe he felt Steve retreating from him a bit. He did recognize that they couldn’t spend every day of the rest of their lives living in each other’s back pocket, no matter how much he might want them to. Nine perfect days. 

Well,  _ seven _ perfect days, and two maybe-not-quite-so-perfect-but-still-amazing days.

He got up with Steve at five, made him coffee, kissed him good-bye, then went back to bed for an hour before getting up again at seven to get ready for work. Funny how that had become such an easy routine to follow now. He’d slipped into it comfortably and happily, and while he still couldn't say he  _ liked  _ getting up that early, he could say he liked that Steve liked it, and that was almost the same thing now anyway.

He went to work, pushed some papers around, made a few calls, sat in on a marketing meeting. Nothing too special. Just mellow, Monday-morning stuff. He never liked to schedule anything too taxing for Monday mornings. He didn’t like pushing his brain too hard on Mondays. That’s what Tuesdays were for.

He went back to his office after the meeting, with nothing but thoughts of a tuna on rye on his mind. He thought he’d go down to Sam’s office and ask him to go to lunch. They’d gotten pretty chummy since their dinner at his and Nat’s place last week. They had lunch together most days, and had gotten a beer right after work twice. Tony liked that. It made him happy, hanging out with a friend for an hour after work, then going home to find Steve there waiting for him, having dinner, cuddling on the couch for a while, then going to bed and making love in the dark with the sounds and lights of the city coming through the window. It felt good. It felt right. Like everything he had ever wanted.

He sat down at the desk, jotting down a few notes from the meeting, that tuna sandwich still looming in the front of his mind, when he heard a rap on the door jamb.

“Come on in,” Tony said automatically, then glanced up and broke into a large, goofy-feeling but undeniably charming smile. “Hey, baby!”

Steve raised his hand from the doorway. “Hey.”

Tony jumped up and came around the desk. “God, this is a nice surprise,” he said, and took his hand, pulling him into the room. Steve came slowly inside, and when Tony reached up to kiss him, he met his lips for only the briefest of moments before pulling away again. Tony frowned a little, but shook it off. “You’ve never come to see me at work before. I’m glad you’re here.”

Steve ran a hand through his own hair. “Yeah."

Tony cocked his head, his eyes narrowed. He hadn’t seen Steve look like this for a while. He was pale, his eyes hooded, shadows smudged underneath them. They hadn’t spent much time together this morning, but thinking back, Tony couldn’t see a reason why he would be so upset. “Steve?” he said. He was still holding his hand, and now Tony let his thumb caress the delicate skin of his inner wrist. “What’s going on?”

Steve looked at the ground. “I have to talk to you.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Okay…?” he said, drawing the word out. “‘Bout what?”

Steve raised his eyes to Tony’s, then let them skitter away. “Just...just stuff.”

Fear sent a lance through Tony’s heart. He felt sweat pop out on his brow. He kept hold of Steve’s hand. He didn’t want to let it go. For some terrible reason, he felt that if he let it go, he would never get to hold it again. 

“Can it wait until I get home?” he asked, trying to buy himself some time, some time to figure out how to fix a problem he wasn't even entirely sure he had.

Steve shook his head immediately. “No,” he said. “Now. It has to be now.”

The fear intensified by a thousand. 

“Give me five minutes?” 

Steve nodded reluctantly, and Tony squeezed his hand, reached up and touched his cheek, pulled him closer. He kissed the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay, baby," he whispered into Steve's ear. "It’s okay. Whatever it is, it will be okay.”

Steve closed his eyes. He didn’t answer.

“I’ll be right back.”

Tony squeezed his hand one more time, then left the room. His mind, his fearless, strong, intense mind, was in a state of whirlwind-panic.  _ I have to talk to you. _ Hmm. It was a cliché to think that spelled out certain doom, but it had definitely looked like doom on Steve’s face. And it felt like doom in Tony’s heart and head. And that was the thing about clichés, wasn’t it? It only became a cliché because somewhere, at some time or other, it had to be true enough times to  _ make _ it a cliché. 

Tony hated clichés.

Hated that he was afraid he was living one out in real time right this very second.

He stopped at his receptionist’s desk. “I need you to cancel everything.”

She blinked up at him. “Cancel everything?”

“Yeah. Everything. Everything I have for the rest of the day. Cancel it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Are you alright?”

Tony nodded, but his head was back in his office. Back there with Steve, trying like hell to work his way through every possible outcome imaginable for an unimaginable situation. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Will you please just do it?”

“Of course.”

“‘Kay. Thanks. I’m going to be in my office for a little while, but I’m going dark. No calls, no visitors, no interruptions.”

“Sure, Mr. Stark.”

He rapped his knuckles on her desk and tried to give her a reassuring smile. It came off nervous and distracted instead. “Thanks,” he said again, and headed back to his office.

Steve was standing at the window when Tony came back into the room. He had his back to him, his arms folded. His spine was straight, firm, his shoulders strong and square. Tony ached for him. Ached to go to him, take him in his arms, hold him, kiss him, take away whatever it was that was so upsetting him. But he didn’t dare. 

Tony closed the door and locked it, then went to stand next to Steve, the man who had stolen his heart, almost while he hadn’t been looking. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Admired his strong jaw and high cheekbones even as he searched his face for some kind of sign as to what this was all about. Steve didn’t give him one. He just stared out the window. 

The view here was different from the one at home, but no less breathtaking. They were high up, the city laid out at their feet. The Atlantic surged off in the distance, dreaming away behind the buildings and the deep pockets of green space that was Central Park. They’d had a picnic there one afternoon not that long ago. Steve had surprised him. Had packed some sandwiches, a bottle of wine, and a blanket, and called Tony to meet him after work. They had eaten, and talked, and laughed, then laid down on the blanket, Tony’s head on Steve’s stomach, Steve’s hand in his hair, while the afternoon lazed down into evening. It had been a good day. 

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets. He wanted to ask what was going on, but his mouth was not cooperating. It didn’t matter anyway. Steve took control.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

He’d been expecting it, but it still came as a gut-punch. He raised a hand to his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I just don’t think it’s working anymore.”

“Since when?” Tony asked. “This morning?”

The muscle in Steve’s jaw worked. “No. For a while. I just didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Tony shook his head and turned to Steve and laid his hand on his arm. He couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t stand not touching him. And he had to touch him for this. He couldn't say it  _ without _ touching him. “Baby. I’m going to say something to you now that I hardly ever say to anybody, and I never thought I’d say to you at all.”

Steve looked at him, turning his head just enough to look into his eyes. “What?”

“I don’t believe you.”

Steve dropped his eyes, but not before Tony saw the hurt that flared inside those deep blues. The muscle in his jaw kept flexing, kept clenching in a rhythmic way. Tony couldn’t stop looking at it. He was almost hypnotized.

“It’s true,” Steve said softly.

Tony put his hand on Steve’s back. He scratched it with tiny, gentle movements of his fingers. “No, it isn’t.”

“Tony-”

He stepped closer and pressed his lips against Steve’s firm shoulder. “Steve, if you really mean it--I mean  _ really _ , really mean it--I’ll let you go. I won’t stop you.” He slipped his arm around his waist, his other hand still scratching his back in small, soothing circles. “But I need you to tell me what happened first. Please. Please tell me what I did wrong, and give me a chance to make it up to you before we just throw this away. Please.”

Steve sighed. Tony kissed his shoulder again. Again. Kept holding him, kept touching him, kept trying to calm him down with his touch. And he needed it. Steve's muscles were thrumming beneath his skin. Tony could feel them quivering against him. “Baby?”

“It’s not  _ you _ ,” Steve whispered finally. “You didn’t do anything, Tony.”

Tony touched his cheek, kissed his neck. “What is it, then? Honey, please tell me.”

Steve sighed again, but this time, his shoulders fell a little. His head tipped toward Tony’s. Tony thought it was unconscious, but he was staggered by relief anyway. It was a small step, maybe, but it was a step all the same. 

Steve closed his eyes, seemed to draw up his courage, then said, “Thad came to see me at the restaurant on Saturday night.”

And then Tony was staggered for an entirely different reason. His hands fell away from Steve's body and dropped to his sides. “Oh.”

The Howard in his head raised a glass and saluted him with it, saying  _ Great job, son,  _ without saying a word. He didn’t have to say anything. Tony knew that fucking little smirk on his face all too well.

He swallowed past the sudden blockage in his throat. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to get back together.”

“Oh.” And that was all. All that was in his head. Every thought, every feeling, every everything, boiled down to just that. Just “Oh”.

And Steve must have felt it. Must have sensed it. Knew it for what it was: pure defeat.

He turned to him all of a sudden, and Tony felt the full force of his remarkable goodness. The undeniable force of his will. Of his love. He grasped Tony’s shoulders in his large hands and looked into his eyes. “Tony,” he said, and his voice seemed very loud in Tony’s ears, even though it was quiet. “Tony, it’s not that. It’s not  _ him _ .”

"Oh."

He gripped Tony tighter, drew him closer to the fire that burned in his eyes. “It's not. You have to believe me. I don’t want anything to do with him, okay? I told him to fuck off and never come near me again.” Something flickered in Tony’s chest. Something that felt like hope. Steve held him tighter still. “I don’t want to go back to that, Tony. Never. I’d never do that. Not to you, and not to me.”

Tony sagged against him, put his arms around Steve’s waist and held onto him. It felt like he was holding his entire life in his hands. He was pretty goddamn sure he was. Tony rubbed his cheek against Steve’s chest, feeling the warmth of Steve’s arms come around him. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said helplessly, and Steve’s arms tightened, his hand came up to cup the back of Tony’s head, holding him firmly.

But then he let him go.

“I still can’t see you anymore, Tony.”

Tony shook his head. “No,” he said. “Uh-uh. You can’t do that to me, Steve. You can't do that to  _ us _ ."

Steve turned away from him and walked to the couch against the wall. He sat down on it  heavily, and put his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his face with his hands. "You don't understand," he said.

Tony followed him and sat beside him. He touched his back, laid his hand on it and let his fingers massage his knotted muscles. "No. I don't,” he answered. “Help me, baby. Help me understand."

He kept his elbows on his knees, turning his head just enough to look at Tony through his ridiculously long eyelashes. His jaw continued to flex. “When Thad showed up at work-” he paused, and Tony rubbed his back encouragingly. “He was...really angry when I told him no.” A dark, pained smile graced his lips for a second. “ _ Really _ angry. And he said some stuff to me-”

“What stuff?” Tony asked.

Steve shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just some stuff. He called me some not-nice names. And said I was…” He rubbed his face again. “He said I had used him. And that I was probably using you, too.” That painful smile showed up again. “He said he felt sorry for you.”

“What’s his number?” Tony said. Rage was like a dark, shadowy flame in his stomach.  _ Sorry for him?  _ Sorry _ for him?  _ His hands were shaking. His guts twisted into black, serpentine knots. He got to his feet and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Steve? Tell me his phone number. This is bullshit. Absolute fucking bullshit.”

Steve stood up and grasped Tony’s shoulders again. “Tony, calm down.”

“I  _ can’t _ calm down, Steve,” he said. He felt both angry and helpless. “I can’t, baby. I’m sick of this guy. I’m sick of the way he treats you, and the way he seems to think he can just do whatever he wants,  _ whenever _ he wants-”

Steve nodded. “I know.” He kept his hands on Tony’s arms, looked him fully in the eye. “I know, Tony. He’s a piece of shit. I know that.  _ Now  _ I know that. But I handled it. Okay? I took care of it.”

“Really?” Tony said. “‘Cause you just broke up with me.”

“I told you. It’s not because of  _ him. _ ”

“Then  _ why? _ ”

Steve put his arms around him and put his face into the crook of his neck. “Because I love you,” he said, and Tony felt a dampness against his skin. Tears. Tony wrapped him up in his own arms and held him tightly. “I love you so much, Tony. I’ve never been happier than I’ve been the last little while with you.”

“Gee, Steve, I’m so sorry I’ve made you happy enough to dump me.”

Steve uttered a short laugh, and shook his head. “Stop it,” he murmured. “Stop making me laugh. It’s not fair.”

Tony ran his hand up through Steve’s hair, smoothing it back behind his ear, and kissed his cheek. Kissed his neck, once, twice, three times. “It’s not fair to just drop me either, baby. Especially without telling me what the fuck is really going on.”

“Because some of the stuff Thad said was right,” Steve said. “He might be an asshole, but he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t wrong about...you know, about  _ me _ .”

“Huh. That’s funny. I don’t  _ feel  _ used.”

Steve stayed in Tony’s arms. Stayed in the safety of that circle. “But you’re not the only one, Tony. You don’t know. You don’t know all of the things I’ve done.”

Tony shook his head, holding Steve as tight as he could. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. It matters to me.”

“Then tell me. You can tell me. You can tell me everything.”

“You won’t want me then,” Steve insisted. But he still didn’t move. He still let Tony hold him. Still let him pet his neck, his back, his hair. “When you know, you won’t want anything to do with me.”

Tony kissed him. Kissed his cheek. Kissed his shoulder. “There’s nothing you could ever say--fucking  _ ever _ say--that would make me not want you.” He pulled back a little, just enough that he could look him in the eye. “I adore you, Steve. I’d do anything for you. And nothing you’ve done, or think you’ve done, will ever change that.”

Steve loosened one hand from around Tony and wiped his face with it. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Cross your heart?” Steve asked, and the binds that had been clenching Tony’s heart tightly finally loosened. He could breathe again. Thank god he could breathe again.

“Ten times, baby.”

Steve smiled at last, the sun breaking through the clouds, and he sunk again into Tony’s arms and squeezed him. Tony couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was okay. If he was ever going to be crushed to death, he wanted it to be just like this. 

But before the air completely left his lungs, Steve let Tony go and stepped back. He looked at him from under his lashes again. He took Tony’s hands and held them in both of his. “I wish we could go home,” he said. “If I’m going to tell you, I want to do it there.”

Tony kissed him softly. “Let’s go.”

“Your work-”

Tony shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I already cancelled everything. I’m yours.”

“You did? You cancelled your work for me?”

“Yeah.”

Steve leaned into him and kissed his mouth. He rested his forehead against Tony’s. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go home, okay?”

“Okay.”

Tony grabbed his briefcase and they headed out the door, hand-in-hand. When they got home, Tony took Steve to bed and listened while he told him about all the things Thad had made him do. Told him about the things he had done to help pay for his parents’ funerals. Steve tried to pull away from him when he was done, but Tony held him tightly, held him and murmured soft words to him, telling him how much he loved him. How strong he was. How fucking brave. He held him while Steve broke down and cried in his arms. He held him and kissed his forehead, rubbed his back, stroked the soft skin of his cheek. When he was cried out, Steve just lay in his arms, his head on Tony’s chest. He asked him if he still wanted him. Tony laughed, and squeezed him tightly. He kissed his forehead again, and then Steve met his lips with his own. 

Soft kisses and I love you’s for hours. 

Nine perfect days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I love you all so much!!
> 
> Maybe one more chapter?...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the thing...  
> I thought of this scene really early on in the story. I thought it would be a fun little ending to the whole "Thad" situation, and I was really excited about writing it. I live in America, and as most of you are aware, a lot of shit involving the police has happened here since then. A lot of bad shit. And I debated for weeks about whether I should write the scene the way I had conceived it earlier, or if I should try and change it to just exclude the whole thing. It's not a huge part of the story, and I would not want to offend anyone, but I decided to leave it in. I'm not sure if I made the right choice, but, it's the choice I made. I was going to just have this be a part of the whole long last chapter, but I decided to post this part on its own, so we can have the good part--the happy ending I have promised from day one--be its own thing without this part, in case it bothers anyone. I kept it super light, because this is fiction, and light is the whole tone I wanted from the time I thought of this scene in the first place.  
> To those it bothers, I'm really sorry.

SEPTEMBER, SATURDAY 10:50 PM

“Alright, guys. Who wants it?”

Tony and Sam looked at each other. Both were a little wide-eyed, a little expectant, both wanting the other to take the lead here.

Neither did. Neither wanted to.

“Come on,” the cop said. “I don’t have all night.”

“Welllll,” Tony drawled, cocking a brow at Sam, “you know, _you_ could-”

“No fucking way, Stark.”

“Sam-”

“ _No._ ”

Tony ran a frustrated hand through his hair. There was a bandage wrapped clumsily around it, a tiny bloom of blood just showing through the white. His hair stuck up in bed-head spikes. It wasn’t the first time he had run a hand through it since they got here. Nor would it be the last. “I can’t call him, Sam. I can’t.”

Sam sighed. “Call Happy.”

“He took his wife to the Poconos for the weekend.”

Sam scuffed his foot on the ground, looking a little like an overgrown kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I’m not calling _her_ ,” he mumbled. “She’ll kill me.” He bit his lip. “She’ll kill us both," he amended, "but I’ll get the worst of it.”

“She’s going to find out eventually,” Tony said. 

“So is he.”

“I’ve really gotta have an answer here, guys,” the cop said. He was an older guy, sixty or so, and he looked both weary and amused by the situation. Like he was watching an episode of his favorite tv show that he’d seen a hundred times before.

“Fine,” Tony said, and reached for the phone. “Fine. But I’m taking half the bail out of your paycheck.”

“That’s fair.”

Tony held the phone, but he didn’t dial anything yet. He just sat with it in his hand. His tongue stole out and probed the corner of his mouth. There was a small cut there too. A shallow gash over his right eyebrow. His clothes--t-shirt, jeans, leather jacket--were wrinkled and dusty. “What do I say?” he asked, his voice and face both dejected and sad. He looked up at the cop. “What do other people say?”

The officer shrugged a little. “They usually start out with ‘Hi, honey,’ and then they go from there.”

Tony held the phone out to Sam again. “Are you sure you won’t…?”

“No way.”

He sighed. “Fine,” he muttered, and dialed the number. He waited for a minute, then said, “Yeah, hey, can I talk to Steve Rogers in the kitchen, please?” He looked at his hand, at the bandage covering the knuckles. It hurt. His lip hurt too.

Sam raised an eyebrow expectantly. His own face was unharmed, but his clothes were dirty. His shirt was torn and missing a button.

Tony sighed again. “They’re getting him.”

The police station seemed fairly quiet for a Saturday night. He’d been in a few of them over the years, and usually they were a cacophony of cat-calls, strident voices, crying, laughing, a tv playing in the corner, phones ringing. It wasn’t that loud tonight. Just a few people sitting around, and they all seemed as morose as he and Sam did. Maybe it was still too early for drunk and belligerent, he thought. It wasn’t even eleven yet. The bars were still open and the night still in full-swing. At least for most people. Not them, though. Nope. Not them.

Thanks a lot, Thad Ross.

Then Steve’s voice in his ear. “Yeah, this is Steve Rogers?”

Tony took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Sam gave him a conciliatory nudge with his shoulder. Tony smiled a little. “Hi, honey,” he said into the phone. “It’s me. Umm...I’ve got a problem…”

SEPTEMBER, SUNDAY 1:30 AM

The cell wasn’t crowded, so that was a plus. 

Tony and Sam sat next to each other, a couple of drunks and a twitchy little drug-dealer sat across the way. None of them spoke. None of them had spoken for a while. That was good, too. Tony didn’t want to listen to some guy on a meth-addled tirade. He didn’t want to listen to anything. He just wanted to sit quietly and wait for the cavalry.

He just hoped the cavalry would be a friendly one. He _really_ hoped it would be a friendly one.

A uniformed officer, not the same one who had booked them, but another guy, a younger guy, came up to the cell. “Tony Stark and Sam Wilson.”

Tony raised his finger. “Right here.”

“You’re saved. Come on out.”

They both got to their feet and slouched out of the cell. None of the other guys even looked their way. Neither Tony nor Sam looked back. They just followed the officer back down to the outer office. Tony didn’t look up on the way either. He just watched his feet, how they automatically moved one in front of the other. He would have walked that same way if he were going down a country highway, or a church aisle, or the long green hallway that led down to the electric chair. 

He only looked up when the room opened around them. The first thing he saw was Steve. He was standing at the desk, a pen in his hand. He was filling out a form, his brow furrowed in concentration. His wallet sat by his hand, open to his driver’s license. His credit cards sat snugly in their little slots, but his debit card was out, sitting on the counter. He was still wearing his uniform shirt from the restaurant. It was nothing more than a black t-shirt with the name and logo printed on the back and it might have blended in with the regular Saturday night crowd except for the food stains on it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Natasha sitting on a hard wooden bench. Sam went to her and she stood up. Sam hung his head. She put her hands on her hips, eyeing him for a moment, then sighed and touched his cheek. Tony saw her lips form the words _Are you okay?_ Sam nodded, and then she was hugging him, and kissing him fiercely once before smacking him on the arm and starting in with the lecture. Tony could tell it was a lecture. But he could also tell that it was a gentle one. He looked hopefully at Steve. 

Steve didn’t look back.

“Hi, baby,” he said.

Steve’s fingers clenched tighter on the pen, then loosened. “Anything else?” he asked the desk-clerk.

“Nope. You can take them home.”

“Thanks.”

Steve tucked his debit card back into its slot, then folded his wallet. He shoved it in his pocket. Tony reached for him as he passed, but Steve brushed by him without a glance. “I’ll be in the car,” he said to Nat, and then he was gone.

Tony closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He felt like shit.

Then Natasha was by his side. She plucked the sleeve of his jacket. “Come on, Tony. Steve’s waiting.”

“You guys should probably just go without me.”

She rolled her eyes. Affectionately. “Stop being a baby. He’s tired and pissed, but he’s not unreasonable. He’ll get over it. And so will you.” She tugged his sleeve again. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He nodded, and followed Sam and Natasha out the front door. The booking officer gave him a little wave. "Good luck, kid," he said, and Tony couldn't help smiling a little at that.

Steve had parked the car down the block, and when they reached it, Tony automatically went for the driver's seat. Then he remembered, and retreated to the passenger side. He wasn't in the driver's seat tonight. Steve was. And he still looked pissed.

"Tony?" Nat said. "Shotgun."

"I can sit in the back."

"No, I really think you should sit up front."

Tony didn't agree, but he slid into the front seat anyway. Steve didn't look at him. Didn't speak to him. Didn't acknowledge him, at all. His hand was on the gear shift, and he gripped it tight in his fist. 

"Thanks for coming to pick us up," Tony said, trying to get him to say something--anything--but Steve kept his face forward. Tony tried to think if he had ever seen him so mad, and he couldn't do it. The image of his little, pleased smile kept getting in the way. He hoped he'd get to see it again sometime soon.

Nat and Sam climbed into the back seat, and Steve started the car with a growl. It was Tony’s car, a midnight blue 1969 Dodge Charger that he had redone all by himself, and it was gorgeous. He thought it looked even more gorgeous with Steve in the driver’s seat, and he wondered if maybe subconsciously--or unconsciously, anyway--he had fixed it up with Steve in mind. The fact that he hadn’t known Steve when he did the work, did not make him think any differently.

“Baby?” Tony said quietly, and Steve finally looked at him. His eyes were dark and filled with fire. If it hadn’t been directed at him, Tony would have found it knee-bucklingly sexy.

Slowly, Steve said, “Not. Now.”

Tony nodded. “Okay.”

Sam buckled his seat belt. “Where’s Nicky?”

“I dropped him at Clint’s,” Nat answered, and smacked his arm again. “You’re just lucky he was home or you would have been driving home alone with Mr. Grumpy-pants here,” she said, and then reached up through the seat and kissed Steve’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, Grumpy?”

Tony watched as a corner of Steve’s mouth lifted just a fraction of an inch. Just enough to give him some hope that maybe he wouldn’t stay angry forever. He kind of wished he’d been the one to make it happen, but for now at least, he was just glad it had happened at all.

“I’m not grumpy,” he mumbled, and Nat kissed him again. 

“Whatever you say. _Grumpy_ ,” she said, and sat back next to Sam. She put her head on his shoulder and curled against him like a cat. He slipped his arm comfortably around her shoulders and rested his head on top of hers. 

Tony watched them through the rearview mirror, ignoring the little stab of jealousy he felt. He looked at Steve again out of the corner of his eye. It really wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _his_ fault Thad Ross was a complete and utter dick. And it wasn’t his fault that he had been at the bar tonight. Or that he had decided to come over to his and Sam’s table and start running his fucking mouth. No, that wasn’t Tony’s fault. Not at all. What came after might have been his fault...but not really. He couldn’t help it if his fist suddenly connected with Ross’s nose with a satisfying crunch, or that Tony had liked that sound so much he decided to just hit him again. No, that wasn’t his fault.

Not at all.

They pulled up in front of Nat and Sam’s building fifteen minutes later. They got out, and Steve blipped the horn once as he drove away.

They waved at the taillights, and then Sam turned to Natasha. “I’m sorry about tonight,” he began, but Nat laid her finger across his lips. 

“Tell me everything,” she whispered. Her eyes were shining with a very specific dark glimmer he hadn’t seen in a couple years. The last time, Sam thought, had been just about nine months before Nick was born. She pressed against him, encircling his waist with her arms. “Speak slowly.” She let her tongue play over his lips. “Leave _nothing_ out.”

“It was fucking amazing,” Sam said. “You should have seen the blood spurt out of Ross’s nose when Tony hit him.”

She took his hands and started backing toward the door. “Keep talking, babe,” she said. “Clint’s keeping Nick all night. So keep talking.”

SEPTEMBER, SUNDAY 2:00 AM

They didn’t speak the whole drive home.

They didn’t speak while Steve parked the car. Or while they walked out of the parking garage and into the front door. They didn’t speak while they waited for the elevator. Or in the elevator. Or on the way out of the elevator.

 _Remember when we couldn't keep our hands off each other right here?_ Tony thought. It felt like a little gloom-cloud was following him around. Like Eeyore. _Don’t mind me. Just miserable and sad right now._

Steve unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. He tossed the keys into the little bowl they kept by the door, then just stood there. He ran a hand through his hair and heaved a huge sigh. “So?” he said finally, and the suddenness and bite to it made Tony wince. “What the fuck, Tony? What were you thinking? Punching Thad in the mouth? I thought you were kidding when you called me at first. I thought, there's no way _my Tony_ would do something so stupid.”

Tony felt a snap of electric anger. He made a grab for it before it could escape and run amok. It felt a bit like grabbing a tiger by the tail, but he managed it. For the moment. “Okay,” he began slowly, trying to keep that tiger from snarling, “I admit this wasn’t my finest hour. But, baby, if you’d been there, if you’d heard the things he was saying-”

“I know the kind of stuff he says, Tony!” he flared. “But you can’t react. He feeds off that. I told you. I told you how he is, and still.”

“He's not pressing charges. He knows if he did he'd have to explain to his wife exactly why he got into a bar-fight in the first place."

Steve shook his head. "That's not the point, Tony. I don't care if he presses charges. I don't care if-" 

“I’m not going to apologize for finally giving that fucking prick what he deserves, Steve.”

Steve let out a breath and looked at Tony incredulously. His face said he was both surprised and hurt by what Tony had said, and suddenly Tony was wishing heartily that he had just kept his goddamn mouth shut. No, more, that he had just stayed home and did a jigsaw puzzle, or watched a _Lost_ rerun or something instead of going out with Sam for a beer tonight. If he’d just stayed home, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all. He wouldn’t have met Thad Ross tonight. Wouldn’t have had to hear him call Steve a fucking little slut, and wouldn’t have watched in fascination as his fist flew out and hit him right in the face. 

“Do you think that’s why I’m mad?” Steve asked. “Because you hit him?” His face was a cold mask of hurt, and Tony wished again that he had just stayed home. If Steve forgave him, he vowed, he was never leaving the house again.

Tony took a step toward him. “It isn’t?” he asked, and the tiger was gone. Eeyore was back. Sad and lonely.

“I don’t care that you hit him,” Steve said. 

“Then why-”

“‘Cause it means you don’t trust me.” And Steve’s voice said that hurt him more than anything. Tony hated himself in that moment. 

“What?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. You don’t trust me, Tony. I told you I took care of it. I told you I handled the whole thing with Thad, and you didn’t trust me enough to take me at my word and just let it go. When he came up to you and started talking, you should have just let it go. If you trusted me, and believed me when I said I had it taken care of, then you would have just ignored him."

Tony closed his eyes. His hand, still covered in a drooping bandage, rose and rubbed his forehead. “Baby,” he said softly. “God, baby, I’m sorry. That is not anywhere even close to where my head was at tonight.” He dropped his hand and moved closer to Steve. He reached out a tentative hand, and even though Steve had not let him touch him all night, he let him now. He let Tony brush his finger along his cheek, and then back into his hair. “Steve. Honey. I trust you completely. _Completely_. More than anybody else. There’s only one person I’ve ever trusted as much as I trust you, and that’s a huge thing for me.” 

Steve’s face softened at that, and he took a step closer to Tony. Placed one large hand on his hip. Tony almost swooned in relief.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Tony went on. “I’m so sorry if I made you feel like that. I wasn’t thinking that at all. All I was thinking was that I hated his fucking guts and couldn’t stand to listen to him anymore.”

“I get that, Tony,” Steve said, and his fingers rubbed gently at Tony’s side. “I do get that. Just…” He sighed.

“I know. I know. And you're right. You're absolutely right. I should have ignored him. I should have just gotten up and walked away. That was first-impression-Tony-level shit tonight.” Tony uttered a sharp laugh. “I thought I got rid of that guy. Guess he’s still hanging around. Sorry.”

Steve squeezed his hip and smiled a little. “Tony, that guy never left. He’s been hanging around ever since I met you.” Tony winced, and Steve laughed a little. “And I’m glad he’s still hanging around. I kind of like him. He might be a little cocky sometimes, but he’s also really smart, and confident, and cool.” He shrugged. “I don't want you to get rid of him.”

“He’s also, apparently, a real asshole who likes to beat up old guys.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “Old?”

Tony shrugged. “He’s not that young, Steve.” Steve laughed again, and Tony felt his whole world right itself. He was back on axis and back on track. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and hugged him. Steve hugged back. “I’m still sorry,” he said into Steve’s broad shoulder. “I don’t ever want to make you feel like I don’t trust you. I’ll put first-impression-Tony back in his cage, okay?”

“You don’t need to put him in a cage. Maybe just rein him in a little sometimes.”

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

Tony kept his arms around Steve’s neck, but pulled back to look him in the eye. He was thrilled to see they were back to being clear, soft, and warm. Like limpid pools on a sandy beach somewhere. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered. “I guess.”

“I love you.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Are you okay?” He touched the little cut in the corner of Tony’s mouth gingerly. “You’re not really hurt, are you?”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe my hand a little.”

Steve kept his eyes on Tony’s while he brought Tony’s hand to his mouth and kissed each knuckle gently over the bandage. He turned it over and kissed the palm for good measure.

When he was done, Tony touched the scrape over his eyebrow. “Maybe right here, too.”

Steve laughed, and Tony felt light enough to float away. He thought if Steve’s arms weren’t still around him, he might. “I’m not doing this with you,” Steve said.

“Doing what?”

Steve gestured between them with his index finger. “ _This_ . This whole _Indiana Jones_ thing you’ve got in your head. Not happening.”

Tony laughed and pressed his head into Steve’s shoulder. “I so love that your mind went exactly there.”

“Of course it did. I’ve seen that movie fifty times.” He looked at Tony through his lashes, giving him that coy, angelic look that never failed to make Tony weak in the knees. And hard as a rock. “How do you think I first realized I liked guys? _I_ wanted to be the one kissing Indy on that boat.”

Tony groaned and pushed himself closer to Steve’s chest. “You have never been hotter than you are right this second.”

Steve squeezed him tight and lowered his mouth to his. He brushed their lips together once, slowly and deliberately, then dropped his arms and stepped away. Tony huffed in protest and tried to grab onto him again. Steve evaded him and held his hand up. “Nope,” he said. “Not tonight.”

“Steeeeeve…”

“No. It’s three am. And one of us has to be to work at six.”

“Which one?”

“The one who didn’t end up in a jail cell tonight.”

Tony grimaced. “Oh. That one.”

“Right,” Steve said lightly. “And besides, I can’t really reward you for bad behavior, can I? How will you ever learn if I do that?"

“ _You’d_ be the one getting rewarded,” Tony said, arching a brow. “I’d make sure of it.”

Steve’s tongue stole out and licked his lips. “Well...” he began, then shook his head. “No. Really. It’s too late. I have work.”

Tony reached out a hand, played with the hem of his t-shirt. “We could just get in the shower,” he said innocently. “You have to shower, baby. You can’t go to work without showering.”

“That’s true.”

Tony took his hand. “Come on. It’ll be nice. I’ll get it nice and hot. Just for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve took a step. “Okay,” he relented. “Nice. And hot.”

“Very hot.”

And it was.

Steve left the house two and a half hours later. He was exhausted, but he felt like it was worth it. Tony had been right. It had been a very rewarding experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go. I know for sure because it is 99.9% written!  
> Thanks for sticking with me so far.  
> Love you all!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That happy ending I swore was coming😊  
> A little hokey? Absolutely.  
> Do I care in the least? Nope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!

SEPTEMBER, THURSDAY 3:00 PM

Tony heard the music as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. He blinked a little, surprised, and smiled. Steve had eclectic taste in music. Jazz, 80’s New Wave, Seattle grunge, old country/western stuff Tony hadn’t heard in thirty years. He reminded Tony of a bird sometimes. When he heard something he liked--a particular guitar-riff or scrap of lyric--he picked it up. He didn’t care what it was. Like a crow with something shiny, if he liked it, he brought it home to feather his nest. Tony liked that. And hearing it now, some old pre-war song with a lot of trumpet and moody vocals, he thought again how lucky he was. How it felt like Steve was feathering _his_ nest too.

He opened the door, and the sight that greeted him took his breath away.

Steve was standing in front of the windows. He had an easel out--Tony hadn’t even known he had one here--and was delicately, meticulously, adding color to the canvas. It was the skyline. _Their_ skyline. The view from the window, but Steve had added just enough of a twist to it to make it abstract and magical. It seemed like a dream-version of the real thing. A dream where roses dripped red honey, and birds flew upside down. It was odd and fantastical, yet entirely commonplace. Looking at it made Tony’s head spin in a giddy way.

And Steve. Steve made his head spin too.

He was wearing old, faded jeans that hung dangerously low on his hips, and a t-shirt splattered with tiny droplets of paint. He was barefoot, of course, his toes curling a little on the drop-cloth he’d thrown on the floor. His hair fell over his brow. He had a brush stuck behind his ear. Tony had seen him concentrate before. Of course, he had. But never to this degree. His eyes bored like lasers into the canvas, his jaw clenched, his hands, steady and firm, not shaking, not quivering, barely even moving, just enough to add a touch of red here, the faintest blush of yellow there.

Tony watched him. The music was loud, but for now, he barely heard it. His briefcase hung from one hand. The flowers that he’d bought for Steve on a whim from a street-vendor--silly, but he’d done it--hung from the other, forgotten. Ever since the other night and his encounter with Thad Ross, Tony had begun to really think about the future. About what he wanted. About what he needed. About how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. And who he wanted to spend it with.

And there he stood. In a shaft of New York afternoon light.

The song ended, and Tony must have made some small sound in the quiet that rushed in, because Steve glanced up from his work. They locked eyes across the room. Cool blue and warm brown. So different, but god, they were so similar too. 

“Hey,” Tony said, and just as he did, another song started. 

Steve grabbed the remote control and turned the music off. He looked flustered suddenly, that intense concentration gone. He shoved his brush into a cup of water. “Tony,” he said. “Hey. Umm. You’re home early.”

Tony tossed his briefcase onto the couch and sat the flowers on the table. “Yeah. My last meeting got cancelled, so I just decided to come home.” He started across the room, and Steve retreated a step. He glanced at his easel, and reached down for the sheet that lay at his feet.

“Umm. That’s great.” He folded the sheet with jerky movements. “I’ll clean this up,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have it out. I know. I’m sorry. I just...I’ll clean it up. Okay? Sorry. I didn’t think you’d be home for a while. I’m sorry.”

Tony closed the rest of the distance between them and took the sheet from Steve’s hands. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, honey, please don’t. Don’t put it away.”

Steve frowned. “But…?”

“But nothing, baby.” He looked at the canvas, then back at Steve. He shook his head. “My god, Steve, don’t stop now. This is-” he rubbed his forehead. “Baby, this is not like anything I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” He looked at the canvas again, then out the window, then back into Steve’s anxious face. “Is this what you see? Is this why you like sitting here looking out this goddamn window all the time?”

Steve shrugged self-consciously. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I guess.”

“Well, no fucking wonder, then.”

Steve frowned again. That look of concentration was back, but now it was directed at Tony. It hurt his eyes looking at it. Like looking into an eclipse. “Does that mean you like it, or you hate it?” Steve asked.

Tony shook his head again. “I’m not sure _how_ I feel about it,” he said. “It’s exciting. And scary. And...I don’t know.” He reached up and cupped the back of Steve’s neck. “All I know is that you can’t stop. Ever, okay? This is-” his eyes strayed to the canvas again, “-this is not something you keep to yourself, Steve.”

Steve dug a toe into the drop-cloth. “But I shouldn’t have it out here,” he muttered. “It’s messy, and...I could get paint on your furniture. I’m sorry, Tony, I-”

Tony kissed him soundly. “‘Kay, first off, don’t ever apologize, okay? Ever. Not for this. Not for anything to do with this. And second, I don’t care about the furniture. And third,” he wet his lips. His hand was still in Steve’s hair, still testing its texture with his fingers, still loving its silky smoothness. And now he was nervous. Afraid, almost, because third...third… “What if it wasn’t _my_ furniture? What if it was _our_ furniture?” he asked.

Steve frowned at him, that concentration growing impossibly deeper, boring into Tony’s eyes now instead of the world of his painting. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if you went to Sam and Nat’s, and got all your stuff, and you brought all your stuff here, and, you know, you _kept_ all your stuff here? All the time?” Tony cocked his head. “Maybe _you_ could stay here all the time too.”

Steve gave him a tiny smile, just a tilt of his lip and a shy eye, but it was enough to send Tony’s stomach up into his throat. “I already stay here all the time.”

Tony slipped his arms around his waist. “Not _officially_. Not like, change your driver’s license, magazine subscriptions, and voter-registration, officially.”

“I don’t have any magazine subscriptions.”

“Kind of think that’s beside the point, baby.”

Steve looked at the ground, then back up at Tony. “You want me to live with you? For real?”

“Yeah.”

A look of discomfort passed over his face. “I don’t know, Tony. I can’t really afford a place like this.”

“You don’t have to. It’s not like I’ll be charging you rent.”

“Tony-”

Tony kissed him again, and pulled him into a tight hug so he could whisper into his ear. “Baby, please don’t worry about that, okay? I love you. I want you with me. If it would make you more comfortable to move somewhere cheaper, then we can, but I don’t want money to be the reason that we don’t get to be together. Okay? I don’t want that outside stuff to affect us. ‘Cause it doesn’t matter. Not really. Does it? When you really think about it, does it matter if we live here, or in Brooklyn, or out in Queens or whatever? What matters is us. You and me. That’s what matters to me. That’s _all_ that matters. Right?”

Steve tucked his head into the crook of Tony’s neck so he could feel him nod. He wrapped his arms around him and held on like his life depended on it. Like Tony was the most important thing in the world to him. Because he was.

“Good,” Tony sighed. He ran his hands over Steve’s back, through his hair, lifted his head so he could kiss him again. And again. “So?” he said. “What do you say? Wanna live with me?”

Steve smiled. “Do I get to change some stuff if I want?”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

“Like this,” he said, glancing around the room. “It’s kind of boring in here.”

“ _Boring?_ ”

Steve nodded shyly.

Tony nodded. “Alright. Fine. You can change it however you want. But one thing has to stay exactly where it is, okay? I insist.”

“What?”

Tony reached out and touched the easel. “This. This stays here. You work right here, okay? Please? For me?”

Steve’s eyes gleamed. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Fuck no. I’d love it.”

“The light _is_ really nice right here.”

“Then that’s settled.”

Steve kissed him.

SEPTEMBER, TUESDAY 2:00 PM

He was nervous. 

He didn’t get nervous much, but he was nervous now. He knew he had a reason to be. If there was any situation on earth that warranted a good, old-fashioned case of the butterflies, it was this one, but it still felt weird. He was Tony Stark, for Christ’s sake. He didn’t get nervous.

He was nervous.

He had called Natasha last night while Steve was in the shower. He didn’t usually shower that early. Usually, he showered around midnight, or, when he was expected at the bakery, he showered at five am. He never took an eight pm shower. It was almost unheard of. 

But they had gone to an afternoon movie, and when it was over, they’d wandered around town for a little while, window-shopping and looking at the changing leaves on the trees. Steve pointed out the place where they had chased the little dog, Loki, around one night a couple months ago, and Tony had gotten a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had grabbed Steve right there in the street, and kissed him breathless. 

They headed home, so tied up in each other they stumbled coming out of the elevator, Steve pulling at Tony’s clothes before they even got through the door, and Tony was on his knees two seconds after that. He grasped Steve’s hips and said, “Turn around,” in a voice husked with need. Steve pivoted, and Tony pushed him against the door. He ran his hands over Steve’s bare skin, as high as he could reach, brushing his shoulders, following the length of his spine, down to his waist, then to the cheeks of his ass. “God, baby,” he whispered, then delved between them with his tongue.

Steve propped his forearm against the door, then dropped his head against it and reached back to touch Tony with his other hand, holding him in place, caressing his hair as best he could from the awkward angle. “Tony,” he breathed. “Oh my god, Tony. Please. Please don’t stop. Tony, please.”

Tony slipped his hand between Steve’s thighs and grasped his hard cock, while he plundered Steve’s ass, making him shiver, making his muscles tense and quake under Tony’s tongue. 

Steve panted, his legs shaking, barely able to hold him up. Tony added a finger alongside his tongue, curling it just right, just enough to make Steve whimper and moan in a brazen way that made Tony’s lips curve against Steve’s skin. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing Steve’s prostate with his finger. “Talk to me, baby. I wanna hear it. I wanna hear you. Let me know how good you feel.”

Steve cried his name loudly as Tony slid back inside him, stroking his cock in time with the movements of his tongue.

Tony loved being on the receiving end of pleasure. Loved? _Adored_ being on the receiving end. But since he’d met Steve, he had discovered the unique thrill of being the one who _gave_ pleasure. Especially with Steve. Especially since he had never had anyone interested in giving to him before. It still boggled Tony’s mind. That anyone--- _anyone_ \--would not sell their fucking soul to the devil himself just to be able to listen to the sounds Steve made as he came apart.

The sounds he was making right now.

He shook and shuddered his way through his orgasm, and at the height of it, fisted his hand painfully in Tony’s hair, and sunk his teeth into his own forearm, drawing a circle of tiny beads of blood on his skin.

When it was over, he collapsed gracelessly onto the floor and reached for Tony. “Come here,” he muttered, but Tony shook his head. 

“No,” he said. “Not here. In the bedroom.”

Steve laughed. “Really? I get the front door and you get the nice, soft bed? Wow, Tony. You’re a real charmer.”

Tony shook his head, his eyes glinting with an impish inner light. He stroked his own cock languidly. “I didn’t hear any complaining," he said.

Steve grinned and stood back up. He held his hand out and Tony let him pull him to his feet. “Come on then, your highness. Let's go lay you down and see what I can do for you.”

He did a lot. He always did. No one had ever been able to bring Tony up over the edge with more skill and passion as Steve could. He left him a sweaty, sated, quivering puddle every single time.

Afterward, Steve laid by Tony's side for a while. Just holding him. Just kissing him. Just being quiet together, letting their hands and minds wander. After a bit, Steve kissed Tony once more, then went and got into the shower. Tony lazed in the bed after he was gone, replaying the evening in his head, thinking how perfect it was, how sweet and warm. Steve had _officially_ moved in a week ago, and ever since, it had been nothing _but_ sweet and warm. He ran his hand over the space where Steve lay down at night, the cooling sheets smooth beneath his fingertips. He’d never really thought about the bed before. He’d used it--in a lot of different ways--but he’d never thought about it. He was thinking about it now. About how it wasn’t just his bed anymore. That it was _their_ bed now. And how right that felt to him. How right the whole place felt to him now. Like home. How it finally felt like home. Now that Steve was in it. Now that they were in it together.

_Maybe…_

He thought the word "maybe". But there was really no "maybe" about it. Fuck "maybe".

He turned on his side and grabbed his phone off the bedside table. He had programmed Nat’s number into it after the first night they’d had dinner, and a moment later her phone was ringing in his ear.

“Hello?” Her curious voice.

“Nat,” he said, and glanced at the bathroom door. The water was still pounding against the tile. He still had some time. “Hey. Umm. Can I come around to your place tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure…?” she answered, and now the curiosity had shot up a few notches. “What for?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“You’re not planning on pissing me off, are you?”

His left hand clenched automatically. He looked at the fingers. Thought about how long it had taken him to get used to wearing a wedding band once upon a time. And then how long it had taken him to get used to _not_ wearing one.

“I hope not,” he answered.

She hummed a bit in his ear, and he could almost hear the churn of her thoughts. “Alright,” she said at last. “Come over. Two o’clock. You can help me with the laundry.”

“Can do,” he said.

And now here he was, Nick babbling happily next to him on the floor while Tony folded huge bath towels and tiny little baby socks. Nat herself lay curled up on the sofa, a cup of tea sat beside her hand. She had a cool cloth on her forehead. 

Tony stood up and tucked the last sock into the laundry basket. “Will you be okay with him while I go put this in the bathroom?” he asked, nodding at the baby.

She looked up at him and nodded indulgently. “Yes, dad. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be a smartass, _dear_.”

She made grabby hands at Nick. “Hand him to me, though. It's nap-time and I want to snuggle.”

Tony swept the little guy up in his arms, making him squeal, then landed him next to Natasha. She curled her arm around him and he lay against her. His thumb crept into his mouth. Nat smoothed her hand over his head and kissed him. 

Tony adjusted the cloth on her head. “You sure you’re okay? You’re looking a little peaked,” he said, and he heard Jarvis in his voice. That made him smile.

“I’m okay,” she answered. “Just tired."

Tony shook his head. “My god, you and Steve are just alike, you know that? _Just tired,_ my ass.”

She laughed into Nick’s hair. “So far as we know, for now I _am_ ‘just tired’.” She rubbed Nick’s back and shot Tony a meaningful look. “And if Sam or Steve asks, that’s what you tell them. If there’s more to tell later on, I’ll do it then. Okay?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, and she matched him. He nodded, smiling. “Wow. Okay. Okay. You got it, momma.”

She nudged him with her toe. “Shut up. Go put my laundry away, then come back here. You had something to talk to me about, remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He snapped off a little salute, then took the laundry basket into the bathroom. He whistled a little while he loaded the towels into the linen closet, then took Nick’s stuff into his bedroom and opened the drawers until he found the right ones to put things where they went. He wanted to do this right. And not just because he wanted her on his side. He wanted to do it right because he got the feeling she already _was_ on his side. And that was a pretty fucking good feeling.

He came back into the living room and sat down in the chair. Nick had fallen asleep, but Natasha was looking at him. “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Some crackers or toast or something?”

“No, I’m not hungry.”

Tony nodded. “I’d offer to send my masseuse over, but massage isn’t recommended during the first trimester. It adds to morning sickness.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “My ex-wife and I thought about having a baby once. I researched.”

“Why didn’t you? Have a baby, I mean?”

“Too many fights. Too many late nights. Too much fucking around.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Me, not her. But you knew that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I think we both wanted a kid, though. Just not together.”

She kissed the top of Nick’s head. “Steve likes kids,” she said in a voice that sounded idle, but wasn’t. “He’d like to have one someday.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“He’d be a great dad.”

Natasha nodded. “Yes. He would.” Tony looked down at his clasped hands, and she huffed a soft laugh and rolled her eyes. “You’d _both_ be great dads, Tony,” she said, and he glanced up at her. “That’s what you’re getting at here, right? That’s why you came over here today?” She shifted the baby so she could sit up and swung her legs off the side of the couch. “So are you looking for my permission, or just my blessing?”

“Which one would I be more likely to get?”

“Both,” she said simply.

He stared at her, shocked. He’d been prepared to ask. To plead his case. To get down on his knees and fucking _beg_. He’d ran through all the scenarios in his mind, rolling them over and over for hours. Even Steve had noticed how preoccupied he’d been. He’d asked him if he was feeling alright when he didn’t make a third cup of coffee that morning.

“Really?” he asked uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

“Would you rather I said no?”

“No! No, I’m just surprised, I guess. You know, ‘cause before. When we spoke before…”

She flapped a hand. “Oh, honey, none of that’s changed. I just don’t think it will be an issue.” She leaned forward. "Do you?"

Tony shook his head. “No.”

“I don’t think so either,” she said. “You’re crazy about him, and he worships you. It’s obvious. It was obvious before, but I had to reserve judgement. You know I did.”

“Yeah.”

They looked at each other, then Natasha was suddenly in his arms, hugging him fiercely, and kissing his cheek. Tony tensed, startled, then hugged her back just as enthusiastically. He was surprised, but very happy. Very, very happy.

Nat gave him a final squeeze, then pulled back and looked at him with shining eyes. “Oh Tony,” she said, and there were tears in the corners of her eyes. “You guys are getting _married_.”

“He’s gotta say yes first.”

She laughed and shook her head as if it was already a foregone conclusion in her mind. 

Tony hoped she was right. _Prayed_ she was right.

SEPTEMBER, TUESDAY 7:00 PM

Tony walked around for a while after leaving Nat. His mind was a flurry of activity, of ideas, of plans. Did he go the grand-gesture route, or the more quiet, subdued, fireworks-and-family route? Or was that the same thing? Did he even know the difference? Steve did, but did _he_ ? And what would that mean for their future? What would that mean for any little additions that might come along? Would he be able to handle that? Would Steve be able to handle him _and_ a kid? Would, would, would…?

And then he was down the old, familiar rabbit-hole of self-doubt and fear, with Howard right there in his head, agreeing with every bad thought he had.

Steve was in the kitchen when Tony got home. He was standing at the counter, holding a wooden spoon. The smell of red wine, and beef, and carmelized onions drifted through the room and wrapped Tony up like a warm hug. He hung his jacket up, groaning a little at how nice it was.

“Hey,” Steve said. “Where’ve you been?”

Tony came into the room and opened the lid of the pot on the stove, inhaling rosemary and garlic and beef. “Holy shit. That smells amazing.”

Steve shrugged, but he was smiling. “It’s nothing. Just stew. My mom used to make it when it started to get colder. Sometimes when I’d come home from school she’d be in the kitchen, and have me come in and help her cut vegetables and stuff. We’d sit at the counter while it cooked and she’d read and I’d do my homework, and then when Dad got home, he’d get bowls out of the cupboard and we’d sit there at the kitchen counter and eat together.” He shrugged again, and the look on his face made Tony feel like crying. He had never seen Steve look even marginally happy when he spoke about his parents. Now, his eyes were far away and soft, and thanks to some strange alchemy, Tony’s nerves and fear about their future-- _his_ future, his ability as a husband and father--now seemed totally unfounded and a little silly.

Tony put his arms around Steve from the side and kissed his shoulder, then kissed his neck. “That sounds nice, baby.”

Steve nodded, and rested his head against Tony’s. “Yeah. I guess it was.”

“I’m glad,” Tony murmured, and ran his hand from Steve’s waist, up his back, to his neck, and caressed it with his thumb. Steve closed his eyes and clasped his own arms around the one Tony still had wrapped around his waist. They stood there like that, holding each other, and Tony was struck with the certainty that it should just be now. It was going to happen right now.

Right now.

“Steve,” he began, lifting his head.

“Hmm?”

“Steve, will--”

Then his phone rang.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, and Steve laughed, pulling out of his arms. He went back to the stove and stirred the stew. Tony looked at his phone. _Restricted number_. “Oh, fuck you, you goddamn telemarketer.”

Steve laughed again. Tony laughed too. Steve didn’t seem to notice it sounded a little forced.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

SEPTEMBER, SATURDAY 6:00 PM

“But...can’t you just tell them _no_?” 

He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t. But, in his head, it sort of _sounded_ like shouting.

Steve looked at him from across the room. He had taken his suit jacket off and tossed it on the foot of the bed. The tie--Sam’s old blue silk one that he had never given back--had gone next. Now he was unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt with jerky movements. He was upset. Tony could see that, but Tony just couldn’t seem to stop his mouth from running. From complaining. 

“No,” Steve said for the third time. “I can’t just tell them no. I already told them yes.” He stripped the shirt off, and then pulled the white t-shirt he wore underneath it off too. His uniform shirt was lying next to his jacket. He picked it up and yanked it over his head.

“You asked for it off, Steve,” Tony went on. “You told them you had to have it. We have plans...I made _plans_ -”

“Tony, can you please just try and understand? I’m sorry. I really am. But, what am I supposed to do? Carlos broke his wrist. Do you want me to tell him he has to try and bus tables with a broken wrist just so we can go out to dinner? I can’t do that.”

“Can’t somebody else go in?”

“There isn’t anybody else. _I’m_ the ‘somebody else’. Trish is out of town with her family. Bailey’s pulling a double-shift already, and then there’s me.” He dropped his head, trying very hard to calm himself down a little. “I have to go.”

Tony sat down heavily on the bed. He propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his temples. He thought of the nice dinner he had planned. The corner booth. The music. The soft lights. The ring that was currently tucked in his pocket in a small metal box. 

Not happening now. 

“Alright,” he muttered. “I understand. It’s okay. See you later.”

Steve sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, then sat down next to Tony. He leaned into him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Tony could smell the scent of his lingering aftershave, feel the heat from his shoulder pressing into his. He could also sense how sorry Steve really was. Tony knew he was. It was written in every syllable he said, every breath he took. 

Tony pushed himself harder against Steve’s firm shoulder. “I know you are, baby. I'm sorry too. It’s okay.”

“It isn’t, though,” Steve said, looking at him from the corner of his eye. “You made plans, and reservations and stuff, and went to all this trouble…” He tugged at his hair again, fretfully. “This sucks, Tony. I’m so sorry.”

And that broke him. Not that he was really angry in the first place. Upset and nervous more than anything.

He drew Steve into his arms and kissed him. “It really is okay, baby,” he said. “I do understand. It’s not your fault. Hell, it’s not Carlos’s fault either. I’ve had to swerve to avoid hitting a kid on a longboard fifty times. Guess I’m lucky there’s never been another car close to me before.”

Steve laid his head on Tony’s shoulder and held onto his waist. “I guess. Still sucks, though,” he said into Tony’s neck. “I was looking forward to tonight.”

Tony sighed, his mind on the box in his pocket. “Me too.”

“Maybe we can try again in a few weeks? When Carlos loses the cast?”

Tony nodded and lifted Steve’s head to kiss his mouth. “Yeah. Of course, we can.”

Steve smiled at him, looking both hopeful and unsure. Tony’s heart melted, and he kissed him again, much more thoroughly. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.”

He nodded toward the door. “You’d better go.”

Steve stood up reluctantly. “I really am sorry.”

Tony laughed and swatted him on the ass. “Get out of here,” he said, and Steve grinned. He kissed Tony one more time, then grabbed his jacket and left the room. “Bring me home some dinner!” Tony yelled after him.

“Yes, your highness!”

Tony listened to the door open and close, then took the box out of his pocket. It was silver, engraved with a scrolled TS and SR on the lid. He had made the box in the shop, working on it while Steve was at work. He’d finished it two days ago, and tucked the ring into it this morning. Nat had helped him pick out the ring. It was made from silver, mother of pearl, and the wood from a redwood tree. It wasn’t expensive, but it was _right_. They had both known it the second they saw it.

He took it out of the box and slid it over his thumb. He ran his finger across the face of it, the polished metal, the smooth wood. God, how he’d wanted to put it on Steve’s finger tonight.

But...no.

Not tonight. The moment was gone.

Again.

OCTOBER, THURSDAY 1:00 AM

Steve came home late and tired. The restaurant had been busy all week. It was busy again tonight. He had been working a lot. He, Trish, and Bailey had been covering Carlos’s shifts while he healed. He’d also been painting more. The art school wanted samples of his work before admitting him for the next semester, and whenever he wasn’t at the bakery or the restaurant, he was at his easel, working on his paintings. 

He felt like he’d barely seen Tony at all for days. _Weeks_.

Tony still got up with him in the mornings, but they didn’t talk much. They just had a quick cup of coffee, then Tony was pecking his lips goodbye and Steve was out the door. He didn’t always have time to come home between the bakery and the restaurant, and when he did have time, Tony was usually still at work.

Steve missed him.

He missed him _a lot_.

In fact, it seemed like ever since he’d moved in-- _officially_ \--they hadn’t been able to spend even an hour together. And wasn’t that the entire point of living together? That they got to be together more? Or at all? Because they hadn’t. 

And for the first time in months, he was starting to worry. He was starting to have those ‘What-if’ thoughts again.

What if things never settled down at work?

What if the school didn’t accept him?

What if all this work wasn’t worth the trouble?

What if Tony thought the same thing?

What if Tony decided _he_ wasn’t worth the trouble?

Steve didn’t know what he’d do if that happened.

He took his jacket off and threw it over the back of the couch. He should paint for a while. He was almost done, and he should just power through and finish. But right now, he just couldn’t do it. Right now, all he wanted was to see Tony. Right now, that seemed like the most vital thing in the entire world.

The door to the bedroom was open, the tv flickering blue-white on the rumpled white duvet. Tony was curled up underneath it, his shoulder, clad in Steve’s old t-shirt, stuck out. Steve could see it move with his sleeping breath.

Steve stood at the foot of the bed, just watching him sleep. His heart was so filled with love and need and want it almost staggered him. He had never, in all his life, loved anyone--including Nat, and that was saying something--the way that he loved Tony. He knew he would never love anyone else that way. Ever. It just would not be possible. 

He stripped his shirt off and kicked off his shoes. He should shower. He knew he didn’t smell very good. But he couldn’t stand to not be touching Tony for one more minute. One more second.

He lifted the corner of the blanket and slid underneath it. He moved close to Tony, as close as he could, and curled his arm around his waist. Steve tucked his nose into the nape of Tony’s neck and inhaled deeply, taking in his sleepy bed-warm scent. He breathed, his arms tightening, his lips pursing just enough to kiss the soft skin that was there underneath them.

Tony shifted a bit, responding even in his sleep, his fingers moving to brush along Steve’s muscled forearm. He hummed as he pressed closer into Steve’s chest.

Steve just held him tighter.

“Steve?”

He didn’t change position. His lips moved against Tony’s neck when he spoke. “Yeah. Just me.”

“Just?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

Tony reached back and grasped a handful of Steve’s jeans. “Glad you’re home,” he mumbled. 

“Are you?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Steve kissed his shoulder. “Me too,” he said, and was a little scared to discover that he was close to tears. He blinked furiously, trying to clear them. “I miss you.”

“‘M right here, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered. “I’m sorry for the way things have been. I’m gonna try and make it worth it for you, okay? I’m gonna try and _be_ worth it. I promise I’ll make everything you’ve done worth it.”

Tony tensed in his arms, and turned his head so that if his eyes were open, he’d be able to see into Steve’s. They were still closed, though. His brow creased in a frown. Steve wondered if he thought he was dreaming. “What are you talking about, baby?” he asked, and his voice sounded like maybe he thought he was dreaming.

In spite of his fluttering eyelids, Steve felt a lone tear fall from his eye. “Nothing,” he whispered, then shook his head, because that wasn’t right. “ _Everything_. I don’t know. I just-I’ve been hard on you. I know. With the Thad stuff, and everything else. And now we hardly ever even see each other, and-and I’m worried, I guess.”

Tony turned in his arms and kissed his forehead sleepily. “Don’t worry,” he said. “‘Kay? Nothing to worry about.”

“You won’t leave me, will you, Tony?” 

Tony laughed, and Steve thought he was still at least mostly asleep. “No, honey. I'm never going to leave you.”

“Cross your heart?”

Tony kissed his forehead again, then slipped lower, tucking himself under Steve’s chin and curling up against his chest, nestling into the soft space inside his arms. “Hundreds of times, baby. All the times, ‘kay?”

Steve sighed, and ran his fingers through Tony’s hair. He kissed his temple, scratched his nails lightly up his back. “‘Kay, Tony,” he whispered, but he was pretty sure Tony was almost asleep. And that was okay. Better, maybe. If Tony said that while he was mostly asleep, while his guard was down, then Steve knew he was telling the truth. Not that he thought Tony had ever not told him the truth--he didn’t think Tony was capable of lying to him, and wouldn't lie even if he _was_ capable--but, it still felt good to have a sleepy, barely-coherent Tony reassuring him. He felt very good about that. 

“I love you,” he said into Tony’s hair. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, baby.”

And then he was breathing deeply and steadily again, sleeping against Steve’s chest, his heart matching Steve’s beat for beat. Steve stayed awake for a little longer, enjoying the sensations of Tony’s breath, his minute movements, the smell of him, the feel of him. 

He felt better. He was still tired, still worried, but not about Tony. Not about their future. In fact, now his worries about that seemed totally unfounded and a little silly.

He kissed him again, smiled in the darkness. “I love you,” he whispered again. Tony didn’t answer, but Steve didn’t need him to. He already knew how Tony felt.

OCTOBER, SUNDAY 2:00 PM 

They went to the movies. Just like they did almost every Sunday. Steve bought his customary popcorn and frozen Junior Mints. Tony, also customarily, insisted he didn’t want anything, then proceeded to decimate all of Steve’s snacks by the end of the coming attractions. Halfway through, Steve went back out to the lobby and bought another round. Again, that was customary. Once, he had tried buying two boxes first thing and just hanging onto one of them until the first run out, but Tony was pissed. They were no longer frozen, and who the _fuck_ eats non-frozen Junior Mints, Steve?!

After the movie, they went to the diner. No one would ever make the mistake of saying it was a nice place, not with its Formica table tops, vinyl booths, and fluorescent lights, but it was a _good_ place. It was _their_ place. And that made it the _best_ place.

They ordered burgers and fries, and ate while they talked about the movie. They disagreed about it. Steve liked it. Tony didn’t. 

Again. Customary.

After the burgers were gone, their waitress refilled Tony’s coffee and Steve’s Coke, and handed Tony the dessert menu. He glanced at it, and gasped. Steve looked sharply up from the newspaper he’d been reading. “What?” he asked.

“Oh my Christ, Steve,” Tony said. “It’s October.”

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah…?”

Tony grabbed his hand and shook it wildly, like he couldn’t contain his excitement. “No,” he said, “baby, you don’t understand. It’s _October_.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow at him. There was a little smile playing around his lips. He loved it when Tony got excited over weird little things. It made him happy to see him so happy. “Yeah?”

“No, baby, really. It’s-”

“Please don’t say October again until you can put it into some kind of context for me.”

Tony glared. “‘Kay, first off, I’m going to kick your ass for being a sarcastic dick,” he said, and Steve laughed. “And second, it’s October, and you _know_ what that means.”

“I do? What? Halloween?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Steve,” Tony muttered, then turned the menu around so Steve could see it, and stabbed his finger at the pumpkin sticker they had slapped onto it. “This, baby,” he said. “ _This_ is what October means. _Pumpkin pie._ ”

Steve laughed again. “God, you have a one-track mind when we come here.”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, I can’t even argue with that.”

His hand was still clutching Steve’s. Steve turned it, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “That’s a first.”

“When you’re right, you’re right, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve kissed his hand again. He was blushing a little, and couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “Alright,” he said. “You get your pumpkin. I’m getting apple, though.”

Tony clutched his chest with his free hand. “ _God_ , Steve. Why do you do this to me? Huh? Do you just delight in stomping on my heart?”

“I thought you loved the apple?”

“Yeah. I do. _Any other time._ But not October, baby. That’s blasphemy.”

Steve laughed again. He couldn’t help it. And it felt really good. Really, really good. Carlos wasn’t back yet, but Steve had finished his paintings and taken them in to the campus. He hadn’t heard anything back yet, but it had only been a couple of days. And Steve had watched very closely when the professor stripped the coverings off to glance at them. His eyebrows had shot up into his hairline and he had taken his glasses off the top of his head and put them on so he could look closer. He had looked at the first one for a solid minute while Steve stood by, his guts roiling in his stomach, gnawing at his thumbnail, part of him freaking out with worry, another part of him jumping up and down for joy. 

Unable to contain himself anymore, he had said, “Well?”

The man had straightened and shook himself visibly. He took his glasses back off and rubbed his eyes before holding out his hand for Steve to shake. “Interesting, Mr. Rogers,” he had said. “Very interesting. I think we’ll be in touch with you soon.”

When Tony got home that night, Steve took him directly to bed. “What’s gotten into _you_?” Tony asked breathlessly, when Steve fell back onto the bed, pulling Tony on top of him.

Steve ripped Tony’s shirt open, sending a button flying, biting at his neck and linking his ankles around Tony’s knees. “You,” he said. “I want _you_ in me. Right now, okay, Tony? I want you to fuck me all night long. I want you to fuck me blind.”

“Yeah?” Tony said, grinding his hips down into Steve’s, making him moan. “Is that what you want, baby? Want me to make the big bad wolf howl?”

Steve nodded, “Uh-huh. Yeah. That’s what I want, Tony. That’s what I want. Make me howl.”

“Oh _fuck_ , baby,” Tony groaned, and then he was doing things--doing everything he could think of-- to make it happen. Hours later, by the time he was done, and Steve was lying on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes, drained so completely he could barely move, Tony sat beside him, touching his bare chest, smugly thinking that he had never heard anyone howl quite so loudly in his entire life.

Now, sitting here in _their_ place, in _their_ booth, Steve felt better than he had in a long time. He was going to be going to school. He liked his jobs. He loved his friends. He loved his home. And mostly, the most important thing, was that he had Tony. The one thing he adored above all others. His perfect match.

Even if he thought apple pie in October was blasphemy.

“Tell you what,” Steve said, and kissed Tony’s hand one more time, but he didn’t let it go, just held it in his on the table between them, letting his thumb brush the skin of his wrist . “You get the pumpkin, I’ll get the apple, and then we’ll buy a whole _other_ pumpkin pie to take home with us. _Two_ other pies. Then we can take one to Nat and Sam’s tomorrow night when we go for dinner. How does that sound?”

Tony closed his eyes and sighed. “See? That’s why I am so in love with you.”

“‘Cause I buy you pie?”

“‘Cause you’re sweet. My big, _sweet_ wolf.”

Steve ducked his head, smiling and blushing furiously. “How do you always know just what to say?” he asked. “It doesn’t even seem like you think about it.” He shook his head a little. “You just open your mouth and the perfect thing comes out of it. Every single time.”

Tony smiled a little, his face growing thoughtful. “You think so?” he asked, tightening his grip on Steve’s hand.

“I know so.”

Tony squeezed his hand one more time. “Let’s test that theory, okay?”

Steve cocked his eyebrow. He was still smiling, but now it was questioning. “How are we gonna do that?”

Tony reached into his pocket with the hand not holding Steve’s. When he brought it back out, it was holding a little silver box. Steve frowned in concentration as Tony put it on the table and slid it across toward him. 

“What’s that?” Steve asked, and reached for it.

Tony kept his hand on it. “Before I tell you,” he said, “I’m just going to warn you. It might be scary.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"Let me see.”

Tony took his hand off the box and Steve picked it up. He ran his thumb over the top, where their initials were engraved in entwined calligraphy. The hand still holding Tony’s tightened almost painfully as he opened the box and looked at the ring inside.

“It’s for you,” Tony said, and his voice and the ring were suddenly the only things in Steve’s world. “‘Cause I love you. ‘Cause I want you to marry me.” 

Steve didn’t say anything. He touched the ring. Carefully. Delicately. The texture smooth and perfect under the trembling pad of his finger. 

“Baby?”

Steve looked up. His eyes were very bright, sparkling with love and a light sheen of unshed tears. He shook his head. “That doesn’t scare me.”

Tony breathed out a sigh. Somehow, his hand tightened on Steve’s. He wasn’t sure that was going to be possible until it happened. “Well?” he prompted. “What do you think?”

Steve smiled a little. Blinked back those tears. “I think you proved the theory.”

Tony laughed under his breath. It was relieved and happy. “Good, huh?”

Steve shook his head. “No,” he answered, and swiped at his eyes. “It wasn’t good, Tony.” He reverently took the ring out of the box, handed it to Tony, and held out his hand so Tony could slip it onto his finger. “It was perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay, that's it!! Thank you all for reading and for the comments. They really do make me happy. I love connecting with you guys! I don't talk much about my writing with anyone outside of this community-don't know why. Just don't-so it's lovely when I get to talk to you all. Anyway, thank you again! See you...soon? Maybe? We'll see!💙💙💙

**Author's Note:**

> I swear in my head this was just a little getting-to-know-you thing with a blind date, and the next thing I know, Steve is blowing the church guy(!) to help pay for his parents' funerals(!!) I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry. More to come in a few days...for those of you willing to stick around, that is!
> 
> Title from The Black Keys song


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